


Lover’s Desire

by SharKohen



Series: Hadestown AU [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, But also mainly Anais Mitchell's musical, F/M, Greek Myths, Happy Ending?, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Hellenistic Religion & Lore), I’ll sing you a song, Jedi are gods, Marriage, Romance, The Myth, Trains, and copious amounts of song lyrics that aren’t mine, but so are the sith, hadestown - Freeform, of a love gone wrong, starring climate change, steampunk-ish, the musical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2020-02-04 17:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18609190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharKohen/pseuds/SharKohen
Summary: He was not so blind as not to realise that as much as he loved her, love was not enough to keep her underground.So six months a year, he would wait, and wait, and try not to think about her in the arms of the Sun.But he would. And he would doubt. And he feared she might never come back.— —A Hades and Persephone AU, but based more on Anais Mitchell’s Musical,Hadestown, than the actual myth.A rewrite of ‘On the Road to Hell, there was a Railroad Track.’





	1. Way Down Under The Ground

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-conceptualising of the same AU idea I had (see on the _On Road to Hell _under my works), but after seeing clips of the Hadestown on Broadway, I've decided rewrite the story as a drabble series with shorter chapters (increases my speed of updating), and also to experiment with a more lyrical style of writing.__
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> _Hadestown is a retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice in a kind of Great Depression, sorta steampunk jazz way. But this story is more inspired on the b-plot of Hadestown - Hades and Persephone's complicated love story, and some Star Wars-y elements._  
>   
> 
> __  
> _The drabbles will not be chronological, but hopefully they will still be cohesive._  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  

On the road to hell, there was a railroad track, and a train coming up from way down below.

 

It was a machine of the finest-make, crafted with an ingenuity and skill that none on the world above had ever seen. Its doors were lined with onyx and its windows gold. Its gears, slicked with grease, rumbled under its polished floorboards, rolling in synchronised harmony. Its wheels - shiny steel -  clanged in time to the steady beat of the engine, swooping the cabins across land and sea.

 

On board were many passengers, but only one that mattered – only one who could really descend from the train whenever he so wished. The one to whom white clad soldiers would salute to when he passed them along the carriage corridor. The one to whom the souls of the dead grovelled to, and to whom the souls of the living cowered before.

 

His suit, pressed and starched, was fitted exactly to his towering build. His coat, wide and sweeping, hung from his shoulders like a shadow. His eye was on the watch in his hand, with its glittering second hand runnings its laps around the face.

 

Occasionally, he glanced out of the window, at the rolling mountains and forest green, at vast lakes and tumbling falls. But this, he only did to distract himself, hoping by the next time his gaze would fall on the watch, another hour might have passed.

 

There he sat, hunched up in his cabin, waiting, waiting, waiting.

 

The sun beat down on the scenery, warm and welcoming to the growing plants and the roaming wildlife. But to him, it was just a fire, burning in the pit of the sky – consuming, selfish, enveloping.

 

He loathed the world of above – its fickle delights, its luscious taunts, its seductive hypocrisy. He might have been born into it - had been raised in it even - but he learned too quickly how shallow its affections were. The world of above could not bear a being like he – so full of darkness and bitterness. Those it could not bear it abandoned, shuttling it as quickly as it could to the world below.

 

The world below was no kinder, but at least he belonged. For all the humiliation and grief his late master had casted upon him, he had made him stronger and wiser. For that, Kylo Ren was grateful. But only grateful.

 

He glanced at his watch, and he wondered again, the way he had over the last few months, whether perhaps gratefulness should have translated to obedience. On somedays, he would scoff this notion and discard immediately. But on his cold bed, on the lonely nights, with nothing for company but the hum of machinery, he wondered what his existence would have been if he had not seen the way the sun had fallen on her freckled shoulders, or the wind in her hair.

 

In his frustration, he tossed the infernal chronometer at the wall, screaming as he did. All that echoed back was the chugging of the engines and the song of its gears. His servants, though stationed all over the train, had not come a-running – a wise course of action, for he might just lop their heads off for their consideration.

 

The itch for action faded as his breaths slowed, and then regret set in. He scrambled down to the carpet for the item that he had despised only seconds ago and now clung to as if a lifeline. The second hands continued to run as it always did. However, the perfect glass that had once encased it now bore a splattering crack, obscuring the bottom of half the watch face. Useless.

 

He dropped it back on the ground, scowling at the blazing ball of fire mocking him from beyond the glass. He pulled the curtain sharply across the window, flooding the cabin in darkness.

 

He waited. He waited.

 

It felt like years of sitting in the darkness before he heard a knock on the door of his cabin. He hurriedly sat himself straight, schooling his features to one of neutral disinterest. “Enter.”

 

It’s Hux who slid the door open. He bowed, rigid as all his actions were. “Sir, we arrive in ten.”

 

“Excellent.” With a wave of his hand, Kylo dismissed the man.

 

His hands smooth out the wrinkles, real and imaginary, that might have formed down his suit. He pulled back the curtains, tying it back in their cords till there was no trace of how violently he had ripped them open.

 

Now all he had to do was sit and wait.

 

They were almost there.

 

Almost.

 

The whistle sounds.

 

He could barely stay on the cushioned seats any longer, so he didn’t. He was on his feet before he could think anything else, slipping out in the corridor. He didn’t run, but he certainly felt like doing so as he wove past his guards and his subordinates, ignoring their respectful greeting. He only stopped once he had arrived at the door of the carriage, resisting the urge to tear it open right this moment. That wouldn’t serve his purposes.

 

At last, he heard the hearty hoot ring in the air as the wheels ground to a halt. The soldier stationed there undid the latch for him. He would have leapt from the steps, but he didn’t. The King of the Underworld didn’t display such behaviour.

 

Instead, he descended slowly, letting the soles of his boots slap against the boards, before finally one pressed on dirt.

 

Their stop was at a town in the outskirts, surrounded by miles and miles of farm ground and pastures. There were townsfolk gathered around, dressed up in … whatever passed for their Sunday best. There were young faces, rugged faces; thin ones, tall ones. There were families, there were stragglers. Curiosity and awe marked their expressions as they studied the massive locomotive that had entered their homeland. At the sight of him, however, all fell silent and took a step back – as they should.

 

Only one didn’t move. She stood at the front of the crowd and she was dressed in white – not unlike the first time when they had met. A man crept forward to hand her suitcase and shawl. She took them from him, and sending a lingering look his way.

 

Kylo frowned. He headed towards her.

 

Her head snapped towards him, and the mortal had retreated back into the masses from which he had come. There were flowers in her wavy hair, a delicate contrast to her stern expression.

 

She told him, “You’re early.”

 

He answered, meaning every word, “I missed you.”

 

He held out his hand.

 

She stared down at the offering, then up at him. He couldn’t tell if she was angry, or merely irritated. Then she slipped her hand in his, and he let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

 

He raised the hand to his lips, the hand where his ring sat on her fourth finger, and he kissed it.

 

He led them both back to the train. It did not escape his notice the disappointment on the faces of the the mortal beings. Of course, they thought it too soon as well. Well, they should have used their months of sunshine more wisely. If they hungered because they had been engaging in revelry rather than working the field, then the fault fell on them.

 

His wife did not share his opinion, clearly, with the way she threw apologetic looks at her followers. No doubt they would be eager to welcome her back when the seasons turned, and no doubt she would be eager to return.

 

Because she was in her element here – in the world of the living. They could see it. She could see it. He had seen it before, a long-time ago, in the garden.

 

But that was when he had been a younger man. A foolish man. Now, as the band over her finger proclaimed, she belonged with him.

 

He helped her up the carriage, ignoring the horde that had gathered to catch a last glimpse of their beloved goddess. He only felt scorn towards them. Love her, did they? They only loved what she could give, how she could fill their glasses and their bellies with her work. They did not love her – how could they?

 

The carriage door was shut, and the whistle was blown.

 

They both settled down in his carriage, her suitcase stored overhead and the both of them sitting across each other. But her gaze stayed on the people beyond the glass, even as the train began marching forward. Her beneficiaries clamoured forward, throwing kisses and waving. Some even began to weep. She waved back, because she was loving enough to tolerate their wretchedness.

 

Inwardly, Kylo only sneered.

 

At last, they were dragged away from the station, beginning their journey back to the Underground.

 

After so many months apart, one would think there would be much that needed to be spoken. But the cabin was silent.

 

It was only when she leaned forward and picked up the pocket watch that he had flung in his rage. She examined it carefully, front and back. “This is rather pretty, don’t you think?”

 

He straightened up.

 

But then she pressed on the button that undid the latch, revealing the cracked face. “Oh, what a pity.”

 

“I can have it fixed once we arrive,” Kylo declared immediately. “Or I can have a new one made for you at once – even better than this.”

 

“It’s not necess-”

 

“It’s not about necessity,” he cut in, leaning toward her, so much that he was almost on his knees. “It’s about giving you what you deserve.” He took her hands and pressed a kiss there once more, harder than earlier. “That would be nothing but the _best_.”

 

There’s no pleasure in her expression, not really. Not in the wane smile that she offered him. Not in the small voice that she murmured, “If it pleases you.”

 

He lowered himself back in the seat across her, and the gulf of tension ran between them once more. Though unseen, it was thick and strong. He could almost taste it, like a poison quickened on his tongue.

 

The long way down was a quiet one, with nothing but the rolling wheels and the clunking of gears.

 

~~~0~~~


	2. Any Way the Wind Blows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s take a little look into the past, shall we?
> 
>  
> 
> The title is a song from the musical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave it once over check, but still I apologise grammar errors in advanced. And weird formatting that might come from posting this on a tablet.

She’s not quite sure when she had first met him.

No, wait. She did.

It was on the right cusp of fall - or whatever was called ‘fall’ then. Honestly, the seasons might has well be renamed ‘Cold with rain’, ‘Cold with snow’, ‘Cold with sun’ and ‘Suddenly blooming hot.’

So, it was right on the cusp of ‘Cold with rain’ that Rey saw him from a distance, standing in her fields. It was dusk, and it was very windy.

He was a stranger, which wasn’t all that surprising. Those days, Jakku had seen many a stranger coming from far and wide, seeking work and shelter. Winter had been furiously long, spring furiously short, and summer furiously hot. With all the erratic weather, it was no surprise that people had been moving around from town to town, hoping that somewhere far from home might offer something to eat.

In that aspect, Rey knew she had been fortunate. While the plantations around her had their crops drown in the rain and burn in the sun, hers had somehow flourished. Admitted, her land was small, which meant that she could spend more time tending to each portion of it, but it was truly a miracle that she had managed to reap anything at all when others could not.

Of course, her bounty amidst the lack had not gone unnoticed. When she went into Niima to trade her grain for coal, the envy was palpable. All the other harvesters, older men with bigger farms, couldn’t believe that she had so much produce, and so healthy too. In the past when harvest was aplenty, they had laughed at her for her puny portions and had thrown pennies at feet - as if she were a beggar!

Now, when their lands were barren, what had they said of her fruits?

“Stolen,” they had muttered under their breaths. “Probably from our own fields too.”

The merchants had sided with them and had refused to trade with her, claiming that they wouldn’t do business with criminals – as if two-thirds of Niima’s population were anything but. No matter how to she reasoned and pleaded, Rey was turned away.

The only one who would deal with her had been Unkar Plutt, the sleaziest scumbag of Niima’s lower town. He bought her goods for half-their value, and sold them for ten times as much. She loathed knowing how much a profit he was reaping off her. But she could not grow coal from the ground the way she could grow grain and corn, and the weather was getting colder.

All this considered, her caution towards the stranger was understandable. With all the hostility building towards her, she was always on her guard. Just yesterday, she had to run off some bandits who had tried to steal from her fields. They hadn’t succeeded, thankfully, but she would only be lucky so many times. At some point, she would sleep, and some happy scoundrel would make off with her hard-work.

Well, if this stranger was thinking of taking even a single stalk from her while she awake, he was about to proven very, very wrong.

Snatching up her staff and throwing a shawl over her shoulders, Rey marched out the little hut that was her home, into the chilly evening wind. She made her way up to the fields, down the path that ran down through it, up to the stranger.

He seemed to garbed in shadow - or, well, at least in very dark clothing. His dark hair, luscious long locks, tumbled over the long overcoat that covered his broad shoulders. Snakeskin boots covered his feet, and dark glasses sat over his eyes. And he was tall. Almost ridiculously tall.

She stared up at him, at his fine clothes, his fines boots and the dark shades that covered nearly half his face. If he was here to steal her crops, he was definitely not dressed for the occasion.

Confused, but not wanting to show it, Rey demanded, “Can I help you?”

The stranger didn’t answer. He just stared at her straight on - at least, that’s what she thought he did. The shades made it hard to tell. It was then she spotted what was in his hand - a scythe, long and black.

Still perplexed, the girl asked once more, “Are you looking for work? Because I can’t give you any. I don’t have enough money.”

He still didn’t answer, his black lens still fixed on her.

Letting out a growl of frustration, Rey swept her staff forward and pointed it towards him. “Who are you?” she shouted. “And why do you hide your face so?”

She could tell that from the way his head moved, he was looking at her staff, then at her. His free hand shifted, making Rey jerk her staff an inch towards him. It turned out, however, that he was merely reaching for the shade. He removed them.

He had nice eyes - one could even say, pretty.

He also looked confused. Or rather, he seemed rather confused specifically by her.

Clearing her throat pointedly, Rey raised a questioning brow.

Finally, the stranger spoke, his voice soft and his accent unfamiliar, “Is this Niima?”

She blinked. So...he wasn’t a thief. Or looking for work. He was just a stranger, lost.

Jerking her head to over her right shoulder, Rey supplied, “It’s a two days walk, half day ride.” She peered around him, for any sign of a horse, or wagon, or any form of transport. The nearest settlements was miles away. How long exactly had he been travelling in this weather? And by foot too?

The peculiar man in the oddly fine clothes granted a glance to the route that she had suggested, then down at her. What had appeared to be a scythe in his hand before was just actually just a cane, now that she looked at it closely, and he slung this over his arm as he searched his coat pockets for something.

After a few seconds, he ceased all endeavours, shoulders slumping. He then faced her once more and inquired, “I don’t suppose you happen to know the time, do you?”

Rey scrunched her nose. “You mean, the exact hour?”

“Yes.” He nodded eagerly, his features seeming to brighten somewhat. Not that he wasn’t already a rather pale fellow – probably didn’t get much work in the sun. “Yes, the exact hour would do quite nicely.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I can’t help you there.” The girl held her hands out with a shrug, jerking her head towards the darkening horizon. “After sundown, there’s literally no way to tell the time.”

The stranger didn’t seem quite pleased with this answer, but whatever he wanted to say about it, he didn’t. Instead, he pursed his lips together, gazing out in the direction of Niima.

He turned back to her. “How much for shelter?”

She blinked.

“For the night. How much for shelter?” He clarified, pulling out what seemed to be pouch.“I’m hardly insane enough to think I’d last through this weather out here. So, how much?”

And that was how she ended up with an unexpected houseguest.

To be perfectly honest, she had no idea what to do with him. She had never had another person in her space before, and had little reason too. Even long after the deal had been struck and the payment changed hands, she was still rather doubtful about the whole thing.

Her guest, however, seemed quite at ease. For all his fine clothes and polished manner, he was by no means squeamish about dirt. He didn’t seem to mind that his nice snake-skin boots were caked in mud, nor that his coat had gained a sheen of dust over it.

“Thank you,” was all he said after she had laid a mat for him – in which the mat was just an empty potato sack – in front of the fire. He paid his no mind to his elegant clothes as he sat himself down and warmed himself.

Rey didn’t know quite what to make of it, so she focused on preparing dinner. Potato, apple, carrot, celery and onions – she chopped them up quickly and tossed all into a pot that she had hanging over the fire. She then retreated to the other end of her small hut, sitting herself an overturned pail all while avoiding eye contact with the stranger.

To past the time, she found herself studying the payment that was now in her possession. It was a clear green crystal, cut so clean that she could look right through it. It was amusing, she supposed, to see her surroundings take a viridescent shade, and she liked watching how the fire light danced upon its surface. But she had honestly no idea whether it really was worth anything.

“It’s an emerald.”

She almost dropped the stone, but caught it before it hit the ground. She spun quickly to face her peculiar houseguest, shooting a quizzical look at him.

He cocked a brow at her. “You know what an emerald is, right?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Rey protested, but perhaps her indignation gave away her ignorance.

“It’s very valuable.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” There was a challenging note in his voice. His eyes, glowing sienna against the reflection of the fire, fixed themselves. “Ah, you do.”

Rey glared at him, her fist clenching over the stone. It shouldn’t have been unexpected that someone of his fancy trappings would be haughty and scornful towards someone like her. But she had her pride too, and she wouldn’t take any slight too kindly.

Before the young brunette could return any retort, he had already turned his gaze back to the flames, saying “It’s probably worth a hundred times whatever you’re getting for that.” He jerked his towards the stack of wheat that she had in the corner of her hut. “Sell it to an honest merchant, and you could live quite comfortably for the rest of your life, instead of-” he waved aimlessly at their surroundings.

The frown on her face took a deeper dive down as she marched up to him, the pretty stone pinched between finger and thumb. She held it up to him.

This action took his lofty self aback, for now he regarded her with bewilderment instead.

“If you knew anything about Niima, you’d know that no honest merchant here could afford to grant me such a price,” Rey informed him acridly. “In fact, attempting such a trade would earn me more trouble than it’s worth. So-” she swallowed up any temptation to keep the stone, for it was pretty and she had never had anything so pretty before “-I’d rather take some worth much less, if you please.”

The look that he gave her was unreadable, but he took back the stone and searched his person for anything else that might be a suitable payment.

He offered a different stone, to which she shook her head to because again it still looked too valuable. Then he offered a small knife, but it was inlaid with gold so she refused. He even offered his handkerchief, but it felt too soft and smooth so she didn’t trust that it wasn’t made of some morbidly expensive material.

“Don’t you have any money?” Rey asked him impatiently, her hands on her hips as he dug into his pockets to find any form of payment.

He didn’t quite look at her, scowling at the fire.

“Well, don’t you?”

“I doubt you want the coin that I have to give,” was his cryptic answer, before he produced a pen from his breast pocket. “Now, what about this?”

Rey took one look at the intricate designs carved onto its glittering handle and shook her head.

“Well, I am utterly confound!” he declared frustratedly, as he returned the item to where he had retrieved it. “Is there nothing I have that you might find satisfactory?”

Rey opened her mouth to answer, ‘ _yes_ , _yes_ , _there_ _was_ _indeed_ _nothing_ , _you_ _useless_ _man_ ’ , but then her eyes fell on his coat. His very nice, his very fine coat, that fit him so nicely and finely.

“You could give me your buttons.”

The stranger stopped short. “What?”

“The buttons on your coat.”

He peered down at the objects her request, then shot an incredulous look at her way. “These are made of steel.” When she didn’t respond, he elaborated, “They’ve not even decorative.” Indeed, they were just plain flat circles, with nothing appealing in appearance.

“Then it shouldn’t be difficult for you to part with them.”

Again, he sent her the odd look, full of puzzlement and disbelief. He barely took his eyes off her, even when he used the fancy knife he had offered her earlier to slice the buttons from their knots.

Six in the total he poured into her palm, his large hand bumping into her smaller one as he did. All through this, his gaze was still fixed on her.

The buttons felt warm. For a second, she found herself wondering if his own hand might bear such warmth.

That second however passed rather quickly. Rey kept the buttons in the small box where she kept the various knick-knacks that she had acquired over the years, before check on her food. The soupy mash that she had prepared was all ready for consumption. She offered to split it with her guest, but he claimed not to be hungry, and instead decided to pass the time by peering out of the window – one of her few achievements, having recently been installed with glass.

The rest of the night was quiet, and after setting up a makeshift bed for her guest out of a bag of wheat and yet another empty potato sack (she didn’t have another blanket to offer him, but his fancy coat should keep him warm enough), she bade him goodnight. He didn’t say anything in return, utterly absorbed in watching the weather. Rey shrugged, went to poke the fire for a bit, before settling down on her bed – that was, a pile of hay that she covered with some patchwork cloths. Covering herself with the matching patchwork blanket, she closed her eyes.

The girl awoke to the sound of heavy rainfall, and also a leak from the roof.

Rubbing her eyes, Rey stumbled to her feet, stumbling over to grab the empty pail and sticking it under the dripping. With a bit of daylight streaking through despite the weather, she realised that she was the only one in the hut. It was impossible to tell whether he had used the makeshift bed at all, but given how he acted last night, it was quite unlikely.

Hurrying over to the shelf, she grabbed her little box and opened it. Relief filled her immediately when she saw that the buttons were still there, but the feeling was quickly replaced with embarrassment. A man as fine and fancy as the stranger was, with so many valuable things on his person – he was hardly going to want his steel buttons back. He would probably have a whole new coat made to his measurements, now that his present one was ruined.

As she ran her fingers over her precious earnings, now all icy cold to her already freezing hands, she spotted a coloured gleam below them. Scooping through the buttons, she found in her hand the green crystal – the emerald.

Rey held it up against the light from the window, admiring how the stone glittered and gleamed. Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder … _why_?

She laid the stone ever so carefully back in the box, and took out the buttons. At this time of the morning, she would usually out in the fields to work, even in the rain. But today, perhaps, she would allow herself a lighter task.

Rey grabbed a needle and some thread, and her old shawl too, before sitting herself on her bed. After she threaded the needle, she got to work on the shawl.

Not too far away, just beyond the stones that marked the boundaries of her land, the rain washed away the indents made in the grass by the railroad tracks that had, just moments ago, been there.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a kudos or review if you liked it. Regardless of whether you do, hope you have a great day.


	3. The World in the Colour of Rust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of _Chapter 2: Anyway the Wind Blows _, in a way.__
> 
> The title is taken from the song ‘Epic III’ from the musical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Reposted due to formatting issues. Again. Also I wanted to shorten the name ‘coz it was way too long.
> 
> This is one of the chapters that borrows elements from the original version of this story (i.e. On the Road to Hell)

Across the acres and acres of barren farmland, hers had been the only one still teeming with life.

That had immediately caught his attention, for as far as he had known, there was only one possible suspect who could accomplish such a feat. He had immediately called for the train to pull up and he had alighted. He had not given any reasons – if he did, it would undoubtedly be relayed back to his master, and there were some battles Kylo Ren preferred to fight on his own.

He had his scythe prepared, and waited in the fields. Waited for inevitable confrontation.

But she hadn’t been who he had expected. Nor what he had expected, either. Even after an hour or two, he had still been quite unable to make up his mind about her.

She was rough, scruffy thing. A woman, yes, but just barely, still with a girlish air still how she spoke and acted. Yet, she was no whimsical creature, so hardened by necessity and practicality. She had no elegance or grace, just fierce determination and reserved kind of pride. She was every coarse and unruly thing that was the surface world.

But she did like pretty things. He saw how her eyes widened when she first held the emerald. And somehow, he found himself unable to take his eyes from her - not that he would let her realise it.

Even after a whole night to ruminate and meditate, he wasn’t sure what exactly he had found on the edges of Jakku. But she was not something – someone – that he would telling his master about anytime soon. For some reason, he felt that a desire to keep this encounter for himself.

“Sir,” he was greeted by Phasma when he boarded the three a.m, complete with a smart salute and freshly pressed uniform. Part of him felt relieved that it was her, and not a certain redheaded menace that always tried to undermine his authority. Hux would hav no doubt try needling him about his buttonless coat, and complaining how his detour had drawn their operation to unexpected halt. Phasma had always been the model soldier, the model captain. Her obedience was unquestioning and her loyalty unshakable.

It made it easier for him to lie to her. “Jakku is unsuitable.”

Her face did not betray any emotion as she inquired, “Sir?”

“We will find another place to harvest,” Kylo Ren said, brushing past her to march down the corridor. “The population here does not fit my master’s requirements.”

He heard her steps following quickly behind. If there was any curiosity or disagreement, she did not express it to him. “I will inform the drivers and the regiment. But where will we go now?”

They arrived in the central cabin - the war room - just as the train began to pick up pace. He approached the maps that had been lain out there, the very maps where Jakku had been marked out for collection.

Just a day ago, Jakku had been very suitable. The region had no clear borders, no clear rulers or law. It was overrun by criminals and knaves, by mobsters and thieves. Such villainy surely deserve the sword of justice to descend upon it. It deserved to be swept up in flames, to be consumed, until they were nothing but dust in the wind. The world of above would not even care, for it had no love for such ugliness.

But there was beauty in the ugliness – _a_ beauty. He had never felt inclined to protect anything before, but now he did.

Besides, why should he bring such scum into the underworld? Why should he help the surface world clear out its garbage? Let the filth stay in the land of the living. Let them poison the ground with their greed and their negligence. Let all in the world see this, and know that death was too good for such as these.

He ran his eyes over the various names of towns, cities, kingdoms, spread all across the planet. He then closed his eyes, and searched his feelings out.

A few seconds later, he opened them. “What do we know about Tehar?”

Phasma didn’t even need to refer to their files to answer, “Located at the edges of the outer rim, with a population of 300, spread across hilly-terrain. Their economy relies primarily on the export and craft of wood.” He sat himself down by the map, resting his hands on his cane as she continued, “They are ruled by an oligarchical system, comprised of religious leaders.”

His eyes narrowed together. “Of the Jedi religion?”

“Yes.”

That was all the information he needed. “Set course for Tehar then.”

Phasma nodded, before leaving to make arrangements. Kylo himself retreated his own private cabin on board. Given how often he travelled to the surface world for these missions, the dark room was as much his home as his estate in the world below. Its layout was orderly and, in a way, sparse, for he did not need much entertainment usually.

There was one indulgence that he did permit himself, however. In a corner of the room was a simple shrine. Displayed, in a pool of ashes, was the crumbled helmet of his grandfather, the greatest Lord of the Underworld that had ever lived.

Kylo himself had never met his grandfather in person, so all he knew of him was what his master had told. Vader had a connection to the Force that was unlike any other, even by the higher gods. Whatever he willed, the Force obeyed. In the years of his rein, the Underworld flourished while the surface world wilted. There had been balance then.

Vader was gone now, having been cut down by rebellious traitors who had rejected the hand of death. The gods did not descend into the underworld the way mortals did. They merely melted into the Force, to become nothing but sparks in its wide webs of energy.

But Kylo Ren believed that the soul of Darth Vader lingered somewhat in his remains, radiating the dark power that he had been so potent of in his life. Surely, one so intwined the Force could not be consumed by it.

“Guide me, grandfather,” he entreated to the relics, “let me see the darkness, even as I traverse into the light.”

~~~0~~~

  
In the middle of Tehar ran a railroad track. One that had never been there before.

The people came from far and and near to peer at the mysterious railway that had appeared late in the afternoon. They pointed, they stared, they argued, but nobody knew where it came from, what it meant and what it was for.

Those who did, however, quietly returned to their homes and packed their belongings. They prayed to the old gods, to the Lord of Life, for mercy as they made ready to leave their homes.

But there would be no mercy this day.

Down the railroad ran the railway train, announcing its arrival with two sharp whistle. The people quickly got off the track to make way, but did not leave. They stood wherever they could, as the locomative came huffing ad puffing down.

Finally, it drew to a halt. One door flung open – the one to the centre carriage. Out stepped a man in a long black coat, eyes covered by shades and a cane in his hands.

People kept their distance, yet couldn’t help huddling around. Curiosity had planted its seed, and it kept them rooted to the ground like the foolish souls that they were – all ripe for the harvest.

The man lifted his cane towards them. He declared, “I come bearing a message from the gods.”

His cane suddenly stretched out into a long staff, and its hook morphed into a long, pointed blade. Suddenly, the people did not see a man in a black coat, but a terrifying shade, so dark and so consuming that it drove the very breath from their lungs.

The blade lashed forward – _sccch_ - _ink!_  There, a row collapsed.

The blade swung forward – _sccch-ink!_  There, a couple heads rolled.

Those remaining began to run, but from out of train poured out soldiers, dressed in white and armed in rifles. They pursued those who fled, firing after them as they did.  
  
The man, the shade, the terror of Tehar – as he one day would be called – merely strolled past the fallen bodies. He watched with narrowed eyes as the masses attempted their escape; some fleeing to the houses, others to forest of their work. Some he even saw scurrying into the grandiose construction that must have been their temple.

Swinging his blade against the ground, he sent quakes towards those in their houses. The ground cracked, the buildings shook, and the people within them screamed as the tiles and stones fell upon them.

Lifting the scythe, he swung this time towards the forest. A streak of flames sliced through the greenery, following the path of his stroke. He spun the scythe a few times, and harsh winds rose to full forth. They blew the blaze into the trunks, the leaves, the branches, leaving not an inch untouched.

For the temple, however, he desired a more ... _personal_ _touch_.

Marching up towards the stone building, Kylo Ren rolled his eyes behind his glasses when he saw the statues of the giant hooded Jedi flanking its entrance. Its wooden doors were bolted shut, but just a tap with his scythe had them blasting open. Stepping into temple, the first thing he noticed was the massive statue of the Lord of Life, carved from the stone. It didn’t resemble the actual god in question the slightest, which somehow amused Kylo Ren more than anything.

What was not amusing however was the sheer number of mortals that was now crowded around the altar, no doubt pleading for salvation. Others cowering behind the pillars and pews, thinking that putting themselves out of his line of sight would be any use. Some fell prostrate before him, begging for their lives.

There were some that would enjoy the pathetic displays, the pitiful grovelling, the desperation and the terror. Some would feed on them the way one would feed from the sweetest fruit, but not him.

All he saw were how much like worms the mortals were, mindlessly feeding on and following whatever they thought might preserve them. They had no true sincerity, no true passions. They had no true regards for the gods – indeed, they barely cared for them, other than having their needs met. Didn’t they realise that the gods rolled the dice, and that they were mere pieces? That there were millions of souls just like their own, stacked together like cards, whose only purpose was to be shuffled and drawn for the pleasure of higher beings?

He looked down at their worn, weak selves. He saw what his master saw, and he loathed it.

Kylo Ren swung his staff back, sealing the doors shut behind him. A cursory flick of his blade did the same for all the windows. He turned back to the quivering group.

“Call on Luke Skywalker, if you must,” he hissed at them. “But know this – the Force demands balance, and the Lord of the Dead cannot be refused.”

“Are you-” a stuttering voice blurted out, “-are you he? The Lord of the Dead?”

Kylo Ren cocked his head briefly towards the one who spoke. It was a child, no older than twelve years of age. He had his arms wrapped a smaller girl who shared his hair and his skin tone.

Finally, he answered, “I’m just a messenger.”

With that, he raised his scythe.

He struck.

~~~0~~~

 

In the city of Tehar, there had been a railroad track. It wasn’t there anymore.

In the city of Tehar, there had once been people. They weren’t there anymore.

~~~0~~~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought really hard about whether I still wanted the Force to be in this story, and yeah, it’s still gonna be here. Even in this world of gods and men. 
> 
> I rewrote the second half of the story 3 times, each in a different POV. Finally settled on this one. 
> 
> Tehar is a place mentioned in the TV series _Star Wars: Resistance _, which I still watch even though I’m not the target demographic. Yeah, Kylo Ren does massacre it.__
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> _Leave a kudos or a comment if you’ve like this. Regardless of whatever you do, thanks for reading!_  
> 


	4. It Ain't Right & it Ain't Natural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats Hadestown on scoring 8 Tony Wins this year!!!!
> 
> Okay, back to the story. 
> 
> In the musical, the Underworld is literally called ‘Hadestown’ because …Hades run it, I guess, and the composer thought it was cool name (and it spawned a highly catchy jazz number called ‘Way Down Hadestown’.)
> 
> I had thought long at hard about whether I wanted to call the Underworld ‘Snoketown’ or ‘Kylotown’, or even just call it ‘The First Order’. ‘Snoketown’ isn’t too bad, but ‘Kylotown’ is pretty … stupid. I did consider ‘Rentown’ but it’s not quite the same. The First Order is more a society than a place. So…I eventually settled on the name you’ll see down in the fic.
> 
> If you laugh at it, can you please like cover it up with cough, or when I’m not looking …

King of Silver. King of Gold. King of everything that glittered under the ground.

 

And the ground had no end, stretching miles and miles down deep. Whatever his workers dug up - coal, oil, precious stones – it was his. There was no end to the number of his workers either. For it was the way of life that it be consumed by death, and if death wished to put the souls to work, he had every prerogative.

 

But just because everyone could enter Vadertown didn’t mean that everyone would. The gates were sealed to everything but those that the king granted entrance. The borders were guarded with a constant patrol, along with beasts trained to rip apart trespassers. A moat had been built around, with water diverted from the Styx itself.

 

And then there was the wall.

 

It was a project that he had himself had initiated after taking the throne. There had been something similar in his grandfather’s reign, a way of separating the worthy from the unworthy. It had fallen in disrepair after his fall, with wandering souls coming to plunder its remains. Snoke had had no designs to fix it, for his ambitions had stretched beyond the borders that the walls had demarcated. He didn’t understand that the walls were not a sign of cowardice, nor short-sightedness.

 

The walls were for freedom. Freedom from lies. Freedom from fear. Freedom, found in the perfect clockwork law and order of Vadertown.

 

It wasn’t finished yet. The borders of the town were long and deep, after all. But it would be done, someday.

 

“Welcome home,” Kylo told her as the locomotive rolled through the drawn gate, taking her hand in his own.

 

Rey didn’t answer, but she did leave her hand in his.

 

The King’s estate sat at the highest point of Vadertown, atop a hill. That meant that the train couldn’t run up and drop them off, but had them alighting at the station by the foot of the hill. There, an automobile was already waiting for them, with attendants flanking its sides and the driver himself at the door.

 

All saluted them as they passed by, only the driver bowing low as he addressed them. “My lord, my lady. I trust your journey has been well.”

 

“It was very efficient,” Rey replied before he could put in any scathing remarks. She held up her suitcase, and the attendants immediately scrambled to take it. When it shook, there was a strange clinking noise. “Oh, do be careful with that.”

 

Kylo arched a brow at her, but his wife only returned an innocent expression.

 

The ride to the estate was a quiet one, broken only by the roar of the engines behind and the creaking of the gears below. With each passing second of silence, his nervousness increased, and as his nervousness increased, his disgust with himself too grew. King of the Underworld, yet he couldn’t still the trembling of his own hands.

 

He kept them clenched as he stared resolutely forward. Occasionally, he would sneak glances at his wife. She hadn’t noticed, for her gaze fixed on the view of the town outside. He wondered if she could see the changes he made – how he had widened the roads, installed more lights, expanded the working floor. He wondered what she thought about it. At the same time, he wondered if he’d really want to know. She never had the kindest thoughts about Vadertown.

 

They arrived at the main house, and the surprise on her face was evident as she stepped into the greeting hall.

 

“You’ve redecorated,” Rey murmured as she stripped off her mink coat, handing over to the attendant standing by the door. She peered down at the onyx panels installed in the steps, tracing them up to the walls that had once been plain marble and now had amber encrusted into the surface. The stairway was now flanked with bronze statues; warriors in battle with beast. As she climbed, he followed, eyes not leaving her face. There was an odd expression when she was appraised the chandelier, glittering with the purest of crystals under the warm glow of the surrounding bulbs. “Is that electric?”

 

“It’s safer than candles, and brighter too,” he found himself saying, almost defensively. “Easier for the staff to maintain.”

 

His wife narrowed her eyes, a downward pull at the end of her lip. She turned to follow the attendants carrying her belongings, up to her quarters. Before she could take another step, Kylo stepped forward, hand wrapping around her wrist. Not tightly, such that she could break from it if she so wished, but enough to get her attention.

 

“You’ll be -” he swallowed – _why is his throat so dry?_ , “-you’ll be having dinner, right?”

 

Her face was unreadable, but at least she nodded.

 

Once she was gone and he was left standing alone along the grand staircase , he found himself pierced with too familiar a feeling – one that haunted him in the long months of summer.

 

“My Lord.” Hux was racing up the steps, to his side. He gave a small bow before continuing. “My Lord, the reports that you had asked for are in. Would you like to go through them now?”

 

He tore his gaze away from the doorway where she had disappeared through, hastily burying all emotion that he could. “Yes. I will study them in my office.” He dug a hand into his waistcoat pocket, removing the broken watch that lay there. “Have this discarded, would you? And have a watch-smith brings his finest for me to examine this afternoon.”

 

“Of course, sir,” the redheaded man answered, taking the proffered object. Years ago, Hux would have squirmed and snorted at the thought of being treated like a glorified butler – a waste of his skillset, he would deem it. But years of firm-handed authority had put the man in his place, and all signs of defiance had been wiped out.

 

Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe the redhead was plotting some conspiracy behind his obedience, just waiting for the opportune time to strike. He would fail, of course. After all, Hux was – or had been, rather – a mere mortal. His soul was tied to Vadertown, but he could not rule it.

 

This was a world of gods and men, and only the gods could rule.

 

~~~0~~~

 

The watch that Kylo had chosen was similar to the one that he had damaged on his ride to the surface, only that he had asked for there to be an inlay of diamond around the watch face, and her initials engraved at the back. It was done within the hour, as it should be for the King of Vadertown.

 

He had it packed in a box of polished ivory, upon a bed of satin, and it was set by her seat at the dining table. Kylo himself was already sitting at the head of the table. The coat was put aside, as was the cane and shades. His shirt sleeves were rolled back, showing his tattoos. His snakeskin boots tapped against the carpeted floor as he glanced at the heavily ornamented clock sitting over the fire-place.

 

Finally the doors opened, and stepped in Rey, looking a little flustered and also disorientated.

 

Out of all the dresses that she could have chosen from her wardrobe (consisting only the finest material and the most elegant of fashions), she had settled on a loose-fitting black dress with sleeves that ended at her forearms. Her hair was still twisted in her usual trio of buns, but the dangling strands had been smoothed back. At least she wore shoes this time, though they were simply flats. There wasn’t a single piece of jewellery on her, just a lace choker with a red poppy attached it.

 

Yet she was the most beautiful thing in the room, as she always was.

 

Rey stared at the table, then swung around to survey the room. “You changed up this place too.”

 

“Just keeping up with the times,” Kylo replied, as he rose from his seat to pull hers back. It was right next to his.

 

She sat herself and after he did the same, the first course was served.

 

Every time she returned, he always ensured that bread was the first of the menu. It was what she was most familiar with, after all, and even the plainest of food had the special place in the heart of one who grew up on it. Not that the fluffy cloud of pastry on their plates was anything like the coarse, grainy stuff that Rey used to eat. No, though the flour was imported from the world above, it was only the finest type, kneaded and rested thoroughly to achieve the texture and taste that only his kitchen could achieve.

 

The feeling he got from watching her sink her teeth into the golden crust before humming in approval – that was always what made the effort worth it.

 

Rey consumed whatever came next with equal ferocity - soup, pie, roast, dessert. Not a morsel was wasted. “I admit, I missed eating like this,” she told him as the last plate was cleared and the servants brought out the tea. “The food up there – it’s not quite the same.”

 

“Of course it isn’t,” Kylo said, after taking a sip from cup. Privately, he bathed in the praise. Food never ceased to be her one of her great loves and it was an easy way to earn her approval. “They don’t have the ability to prepare dishes of such sophistication.”

 

She pressed her lips together, and he could see immediately that his words had not really pleased her. In a low voice, she murmured, “Sophistication isn’t a necessity, you know.”

 

“It is for the Queen of the Underworld.”

 

Rey opted to take a long drink from tea cup instead of retorting.  It was then that she finally peered at the ivory box next to her on the table. Puzzlement etched on her face, she reached to open before he could say anything.

 

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

 

“It’s a watch, like the one you liked,” he hastily explained, trying to decipher what might have been the cause of her distress. Licking his lips, his voice rattling - “Is there something-”

 

“Oh,” Rey blinked “no, no, it’s lovely. It’s just that I thought it might be cookies.”

 

Now it was his turn to appear bewildered.

 

“To go with the tea,” she added. “That’s how it usually is, isn’t it? Tea and cookies?”

 

Kylo frowned, a little incredulous. “Why would there be cookies in a box made of ivory? Why would you even think that?”

 

“Well, why would there be a _watch_ in a box made of ivory?” Rey countered, closing the object in question without examining its contents more carefully. “Or statues in the stairway? Or electric lights in the chandelier?”

 

“What’s wrong with the electric lights? I thought, out of everything you would-” he cut himself off, taking a deep breath. He wouldn’t raise his voice. He wouldn’t. Starting in with a more level tone, Kylo said, “You always said that it was always so dark down here. I thought you would like it if everything was brighter, like the world up there.”

 

“I know I did, but I didn’t mean-” she bit her lip “-I know it’s dark down here, but with all the lights around, and how bright everything is now-” Rey cast an uneasy look around her “- it’s just so strange. Unnatural even. It doesn’t feel right.”

 

“ _‘Doesn’t feel right,’_ ” he repeated, an edge in his voice. His shoulders tensed and the nervousness that had building in his all day bubbled up into bitterness so strong, he could almost taste it. “So you despise the darkness, but electrical lights make you uncomfortable. Short of building a sun below the surface, would anything satisfy you?”

 

Rey glowered at his snipe. “It’s true that I don’t like the darkness, but that doesn’t mean I want it gone. It’s the darkest time of year; it’s expected.”

 

“So you just don’t like change.”

 

“Maybe if it wasn’t so excessive I might find it a little more palatable.” Twirling the teaspoon from her saucer in her hand, she then said, steely, “You do realise that what you’ve been doing here in the underworld has huge ramifications in the world above?”

 

Kylo sighed. _This_ again. Every year, it was always _this_. The world above, the world above. Did the world below have no value? “It’s for progress. Advancement. Something that your precious surface world wouldn’t appreciate. A pity though-” his angular features found themselves curves into a sneer “-since it could certainly use it.”

 

 “Ben, it’s hardly advancement if-”

 

From the corner of his eye, he was reminded that the subordinates were still around. “Please don’t call me that.”

 

“-only some are benefit. The damage far outweighs any good you accomplish,” she reasoned, ignoring his interruption. “Think about it. In the past, it’s exactly almost exactly what Snoke-”

 

Harsh and sharp - “ _Do not_ compare me with him.”  

 

There was a terse silence.

 

Rey then tore the napkin from her lap and dropped it on the table. Not waiting for any assistance, she slid herself off her seat and marched out. Not even second glances behind.

 

Regret, his most common and unwanted visitor, came a-knocking to fill the vacancy provided by his wife, all prepared to dish out the areas of error and self-loathing. But anger had already seated itself, stirring the indignation stewing within him.

 

It barely took a thought for his cane to fly straight from the rack it had rested on into his waiting hand. The blade of his scythe emerged, and he struck the dining table, over and over. He didn’t care about the shattered ceramic, nor the fragmented glass. He didn’t care about the silverware, nor the polished wood.

 

He swung. He slashed. He slammed, until he could do no more.

 

Panting heavily, standing amidst the rubble of his own creation, Kylo swung towards the attendants staring on, wide-eyed and fearfully.

 

“What are you looking at, scum?” He barked, making them shirk back even further. Pointing his still-glowing scythe at the debris, he ordered them to clean it up.

 

As they scrambled forward to obey, he found himself reaching for the ivory box, which had fallen victim to his wrath. The watch itself however was unscathed, protected by the satin.

 

He pocketed it, and departed. There was work to do and a kingdom to run. For all of Rey’s opinion on his leadership, the very worse was to think that he ruled in any way like his old master.

 

Snoke had only sought to expand his power, and much of his doings made that evident. But Kylo didn’t desire an extensive empire, nor did he think it important. He wanted a kingdom of substance, of purpose, and the souls that tarried in the underworld were rarely of the kind and gentle sort. They were hungry, wrought and empty. If idle hands were not put to work, vice and carnage would flourish. It be like the world above – brutish, lawless, chaotic.

 

Vadertown was strong, secure, safe. Vadertown was freedom.

 

Rey didn’t understand that, even with the truth right before her very eyes. But the Light did have a way of blinding one from the truth.

 

~~~0~~~

 

Late into the night - as told by the clocks at least - when papers had filed and orders for the morrow had been issued, he heard a knock at the door. By this time Kylo had retired for the night, and was quite prepared to rip off the head of the official so brave as to disturb his rest.

 

But it was Rey who entered, draped in a silken robe and brown locks tumbled over her shoulders.

 

He’s taken aback, partly because after what occurred before, he had assumed she would sleeping her own quarters. The other part was because he had dreamed of her so often that he had to check that he was really awake.

 

Her hands were wringing together as she approached him, only saying, “Would it be okay if I-”

 

 “Yes.” Words tumbled out hastily, fearing that she might change her mind if he showed any hesitation. “Yes.” 

 

His feet found themselves moving towards her till they were only a breath apart. One hand reached for her own, while the other cupped her cheek. His eyes feasted on hers, on every fleck of brown in her pupils to the curve of eyelashes. His gaze then travelled down to her freckles, to her tan over her nose, to her lips.

 

All his longing, buried deep in his chest, burst open then, and he captured those lips with his own.

 

~~~0~~~

 

In the darkness, as they lay in his bed, with his arm around her waist and her head resting on his chest, he thought he might have heard – or was it wishful thinking? – a whisper against him, saying that she might have missed him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the angst train.
> 
> This chapter is based on 'Chant I' from the musical, which is actually my favourite song, now that 'Chant II' and 'Epic III' has been changed too much in the Broadway version. 'Songbird' would be my second favourite. 
> 
> And The Wall? We will get back to the Wall.
> 
> Review and Kudos if you liked it! Regardless, have a nice day.


	5. Our Lady of the Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time after chapter 4.

When she had been a young girl, she had been always hungry.

 

Maybe it was for food. Maybe it was for company. Maybe it was for belonging – a sense, at least, of where she stood in the world.

 

Now, though her face hasn’t aged by much, her soul had. She had outgrown much idealism of her youth (quite a laughable thought, all things considered, that she had idealism at all).  Despite the scarcity of her childhood; the abuse; the neglect; she still tried to believe the best of every person. She believed that the Great Jedi would return to drive back the darkness. She believed that the monster had slaughtered thousands and had hurt her friend could be drawn back to the light. She believed that the parents that had handed her over to Unkar Plutt had perfectly good reasons, even if they weren’t necessarily coming back.

 

Sometimes she was right. And sometimes…

 

…sometimes…

 

“Milady?” a uniformed guard knocked on the outside of her cabin door, before sliding it open. “We’re arrived at the station.”

 

Rey blinked out her thoughts. “Oh, yes. Give me a moment.” She reached for the suitcase she had set on the seat across hers, but the guard got there first, picking it up for her. “Oh, my, um, that’s not really necessary-”

 

“It’s no trouble, m’am,” the soldier nodded respectfully, but still held the case firmly all the same. “I’m to escort you throughout your visit.”

 

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. “Of course you are.” It seemed that her husband had assigned her a tail.

 

Not that he would be mistaken to do so. The mines were not a place for delicate young ladies, especially when those ladies were, in fact, not dead. He wouldn’t want her lost down here. But she was not a delicate young lady, and if she could survive the cruelties in the world above, the world below would be just fine.

 

Still, despite her repeated dismissals, the young man in uniform insisted in following her all the same, stubbornly keeping his grip on her suitcase. “I’m under orders, m’am,” he insisted as he helped her down the train step.

 

 Already, the arrival of the train at this stop had sparked some stares from the guards on duty at the station, and the sight of her, even in the plainest clothes that she could find in her closet, was very recognisable. Not wanting to risking another soldier latching himself on her, she finally sighed. “Oh, very well. But try not to be too conspicuous.”

 

“Yes, mam.” Theman nodded, pulling down on his cap as he did. Relief was etched over his face, confirming her suspicion that her husband was definitely behind this.

 

The realm of the dead had played host numerous corpses over the years, all across the planet, and bodies upon bodies stacking upon each other. Time, pressure and heat from the earth’s core melted bones into dust, and dust into coal. But buried treasure had no worth till they were unearthed, so the Lord of the Underworld put the dead to work.

 

Before they were allowed to enter the mines, they passed through the washrooms and the provision rooms. They each had to wear a helmet like the other miners, which Rey slipped on without hesitation. Her elaborate hairdo of the morning had been pulled down so that she could fit her head in straps.

 

Her tail frowned down at the provided headgear, and he said, “Milady, I do not think his lordship would want you to-”

 

“What’s your name?” Rey cut in, grabbing one of the belt hanging from the changing rack, examining the equipment attached to it.

 

The guard was a little put out by her interruption, but still answered, “It’s Mitaka, m’am. Lieutenant Mitaka.”

 

“Well, Mitaka.” She detached the goggles hanging there and slipped them on.“What the boss don’t know, the boss won’t mind.”

 

Both of them were headed to the elevators shafts, and the gears groaned as they were plummeted further into the earth’s core.

 

The mines weren’t as dark as they used to be, with the endless ropes of electrical lights now strung up across the walls. What used to be narrow and craggy paths had been widened up and smoothened out, allowing workers more room to move, walk and work. But what remained was the ringing of pickaxes in time with the whirring of machines, like a pulse against her eardrums. And it was hot -  unnaturally hot, as if the ground itself was on fire. The piercing lights didn’t help, with the bright glare feeling like they were burning holes into her skull.

 

And down here, where the air was stale, she was reminded all the more of the miles and miles of dirt that separated her from the surface.

 

Rey shook herself, clenching her teeth as she rolled up her sleeves. Waving for Mitaka to follow and warning him to be careful with her suitcase, she made her way to the foreman’s office. The plump personnel behind the desk was surprised to see her, and with much stammering, pointed her in the direction that she desired.

 

There had been a new canteen built down here, which was an improvement, she supposed, from the past where men had to eat side by side to the dirt they dug. But it was still dark, hot and its interior was still covered by a film of soot. The cuisine had not improved either, if the lacklustre expressions of those dining there were anything to go by. Resting her goggles up on her helmet, her eyes scanned the throngs of souls, all strapped in the same headgear and wrapped in the same dusty overalls, hoping by chance that a familiar face might appear.

 

The odds that he would be on break when she arrived were low. But then again, he never liked being told the odds.

 

As the young woman crossed the canteen, she noted that some conversations stopped entirely and she felt too strongly the weight of their stares. There was no hostility though, just curiosity.

 

“Excuse, your ladyship?” one of the workers nearby piped up. It was a mere boy, looking no older than ten - though how long he had been that way was impossible to say. He lifted a hand and pointed to one of the emptier tables, far in the right corner. “He’s down there.”

 

“How dare you, lowly creature, speak so-” the lieutenant began.

 

Rey held a hand up in Mitaka’s face, which was enough to silence him. Bending down slightly to meet the eyes of the boy, she thanked him. She then straightened up and headed in the direction he had gestured to. The table there only had a handful of diners, of which one sat by himself, dipping the dark crust of his bread into his bowl of watery stew.

 

Rey didn’t bother asking permission before sitting across this hunched figure. That earned a suspicious side-eye her way, with its owner scooping the grey, soot-laced strands from his forehead. A familiar drawl – “Can I help you, sweetheart?”

 

She rolled her eyes, burying the hurt that always came with this meeting. “Han, I come here every year.”

 

The creases on his forehead deepened as he drew himself back, frowning as he appraised her. “Well, there’s somethin’ vaguely familiar.” He scratched his chin, against the rough of the stubble that never quite grew nor smoothen out. “Do I owe you money? No – wait, do _you_ owe me money?”

 

Rey let out a sigh as she held a hand out to Mitaka. His only response was a bewildered expression.

 

Rey let out an even louder sigh. “The case.”

 

“Oh.” The soldier quickly lifted the desired object, setting it onto the dusty table top.

 

She dragged the suitcase closer to her, and pointed at the embroidered motif in its centre. To her confounded companion, she quizzed, “Do you know what this is?”

 

“A fire? No, wait,” he squinted at the crimson shape, surrounded by green tendrils. “It’s a flo – a flo-something. A flo-flum.” He had said that with a ridiculous amount of self-confidence.

 

“A flower,” Rey corrected him, her eyes searching him with more desperation than she wanted to feel. “Do you remember now?”

 

He shifted his gaze to her, realisation slowly dawning. “You’re...you’re the lady of the underground, aren’t you?”

 

“You don’t have to call me that, Han,” she said, slightly relieved but not quite relaxed yet. “You usually call me by name.”

 

“Rey.” A broad grin, displaying a row of teeth that shouldn’t be as straight as they were, appeared as he grabbed her by the hand, squeezing it with a genuine warmth and enthusiasm. “Rey.” He shot to his feet, leaning forward and embracing her tightly across the table, so suddenly that the young woman in question let out a gasp. “Rey! Haha, it’s good to see you.”

 

Mitaka was no doubt glaring daggers at the whole situation, but he couldn’t really say anything when Rey was clapping the older fellow, albeit awkwardly, on the back.

 

Finally, Han did release her, but only to hold her arms length. “Let me have a good look at you.” He let out a snort of amusement as he noted the dusty hem of her dress “Those are gonna be ruined down here.”

 

Rey shrugged while beaming back at him. “It was the most hardy attire I could find in my wardrobe.”

 

“Yes, yes, the King of the Mine probably doesn’t like you coming this deep.” He shot a wary look at Mitaka. “Is that your shadow?”

 

“Oh, he’s just here to help,” she supplied before the soldier could say anything. “Now,-” she undid the latches on the side of the case, letting it fall open to display its content “- what say we set this up?”

 

They had a table moved to the front of the canteen, which drew many inquisitive glances. Han borrowed some knick-knacks from the kitchen, at least those he figured that she might need. Rey herself dug into the suitcase, which despite its slender appearance could hold many a valuable cargo. From it, she drew out barrels, bottles, and jars of varying sizes, sorting them out across the table according to type. Mitaka assisted her in moving the more bulky of her wares, appearing utterly baffled throughout the process.

 

By then, quite a crowd had gathered around to watch. Those who were fortunate enough to remember what was going on had their utensils all prepared.

 

“Hey, hey, none of that!” Han swiped away some of the workers who were touching some of the wares.

 

Climbing onto one of the stools, he cupped his mouth and yelled, “Alright, people! Listen clear! We’re gonna have a straight line down here,-” he waved down the centre of the canteen, “-and y’all gonna wait for your turn. One at a time, got that? You don’t follow the rules, that guy-” he thumbed at her uniformed escort, who jumped when he realised that hundred of eyes had just landed on him “-is gonna shoot up y’all up. Got that?”

 

With that, the throng of workers trudged back from the makeshift counter, trying to position themselves in a more organised way.

 

Rey shook her head at him, hissing at him. “ _Han_.”

 

With cunning so deeply ingrained in his wrinkled feature, him trying to adopt an innocent expression was quite hilarious. “What?”

 

She pursed her lips together while her hands worked at one of the sealed jars. “You didn’t need to threaten them.” After all, she knew how many threats were showered over them everyday. She had no intentions of adding to that.

 

“And _you_ can’t order me to shoot anyone,” the soldier ruefully muttered below his breath.

 

“Please.” Han rolled his eyes before leaping down from the stool, going over to help her. Finally, the lid popped open. “The only thing that the scum down here respond to is threats.”

 

“Surely not everyone,” was Rey’s response. She reached for a spoon to stir the jar’s contents, raising a spoon to her lips – just for a taste. It was sent a ripple of cool air down her lungs, and with all the heat pressing around them, she had a feeling this was going to be a best seller.

 

“Trust me.” The old fellow made a face as he begun carving out a hole at the top of the barrel, just a small one to fit a spigot. “Just last week, a cute little kid cheated me out a week’s wages. He had that card hidden up his sleeve. I just know it.”

 

“You know that you’re not supposed to be gambling, don’t you?” Rey pointed out.

 

“Well, you’re not supposed to bringing contraband from up there-” he made a vague gesture upwards “-down either, your ladyship. So I’d say in terms of criminality, we’re pretty equal.”

 

Eventually, they had the little store set-up, and sales finally began.

 

“What can I get you?” was how she greeted her first customer, a wizened elderly lady with a gentle face.

 

This lady made a humming noise, before asking, “You have any moonshine?”

 

They ordered and she delivered, on whatever container she was given – mug, bowl, plate, even helmets for those that didn’t have any of the former.

 

The wind, which she had kept in jars, was as popular as she had expected. There were many who begging for her to adding a heaping or two more.

 

The rain, which she kept on tap from the barrels, was another bestseller. It always sent a thrill of pleasure through her when she saw how their eyes brightened, even for just a moment, when their lips touched the clear water.

 

Sunshine wasn’t as popular as it had been in the previous years, maybe because of all the new electric lighting around. Still, some folks went for the old favourite, and came away happy from crunching the ray fragments. Those she had to keep up on the shelf, under a cloth to prevent the light from bouncing out into the darkness around them.

 

Han took care of payments, which was usually a coin or two, depending on the portions and the order. Those who didn’t have enough wages paid with other possessions, varying from small precious stones swiped from the mines to socks that were promised to be ‘very clean’. Mitaka ended up being roped into ushering, and his presence as military proved a boon in keep transactions civil.

 

Occasionally, Han would check in with her, since she was the boss. “Hey, kid,” he called from his side of stall. “Are we accepting hair here?”

 

She was in the middle of filling a glass, but she paused to contemplate the question. “No,” Rey finally answered. “I’m sorry,-” addressing the customer in question, who was a tall, muscular fellow with a long flowing locks that reached his waist “-not that your hair isn’t lovely, but if you cut it, you won’t be able to grow it back. Maybe something else instead?”

 

The tall fellow shrugged, before offering Han a patch of fabric from his overalls.

 

Honestly, Rey would have been perfectly happy giving away her smuggled goods for free. But in the first year she had begun this illicit peddling, Han had strongly suggested she’d charge for it.

 

“If you give it free, they’re gonna suck you dry and they’re not even gonna enjoy it,” he had reasoned over her protest. “Get them to pay - just a bit, something that pinches but doesn’t bite – and they’ll savour every morsel that you give ‘em. Try it, kid, and see if I’m wrong.”

 

She wondered if he could still remember that conversation. Then again, she should count herself lucky that he at least remembered her name.

 

 _‘Only after you prompted him,’_ a dark voice whispered in her head.

 

Rey shelved the thought, turning to serve the next one in line. But still, she felt the doubt weighing in the back of her mind.

 

As their stock began to dwindle, Rey began to worry whether that might be enough to feed everyone patronising their makeshift stall. The queue had only grown longer over the last hour, for news must have spread around the camp. Disquiet grew in her as jar after jar of wind was emptied out. Soon enough, her bundles of spring flowers were sold out and her bottles of moonshine dripped their last drops.

 

“I’m sorry, but we’re all out of that,” she told the fifth disappointed soul.

 

“What about birdsong? Scent of grass?”

 

Rey shook her head.

 

The customer sighed, before pocketing his coin. “Never mind then.”

 

Eventually, they ran out and had to turn the remaining crowd away. That had was met with much displeasure, and some of the miners protested that they had too waited really long, and how unfair it all was.

 

“Well, the afterlife is unfair,” was Han’s retort. “Now, if we hear another grumble out of you all, it’ll be straight to the foreman’s office and this guy-” again jerking a thumb at Mitaka, who was a little less perplexed this time and tried to appear intimidating, “-is gonna shoot you all up. Got that?”

 

The disgruntled patrons had quickly departed the canteen then, though still casting envious look at those who were enjoying their purchases. Rey sank into a nearby stool, more exhausted than she realised and rather wrought from the experience. It was the same every year, but the guilt never really left.

 

“I should have packed more.”

 

“I don’t think you could,” Han said as he loaded up her jars pack into her suitcase. “This thing is bursting from the seams already.”

 

“Maybe I should get another one, then I could carry more down here.”

 

 “No offence, Rey, no matter how much you try,-” he glanced around them, before hissing lowly, “-you can’t bring summertime down into the Underworld.”

 

He was right, of course. Because nothing living could flourish the realm of the dead. All the same, Rey wished that she could do more.

 

Once they cleared away most of containers, a thought stuck Rey. “Oh! I didn’t save anything for you.”

 

“It’s alright, kid. I got that covered.” From seemingly out of nowhere, Han produced a glass bottle.

 

Rey couldn’t help but chuckle. “You really are quite the scoundrel.”

 

“Hey, it’s my payment for the work. That is unless-” he jerked a shoulder towards the box that held their earning of the day “-you also give me that. I don’t think you need it, what with your castle and all that.”

 

“Her ladyship doesn’t have to give you anything,” Mitaka rebuked through between huffs. He had stepped forward to load up the barrels, which were the heaviest of the lot. “You should be grateful that she even addresses you by name.”

 

“Oh, loosen up, Captain Goody-to-shoes-”

 

“I’m a Lieutenant!”

 

“I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds boring.” Han grabbed one of the mugs that he had nipped from the kitchen. “C’mon, we need a drink. Even you, short-stack.”

 

“I’m not-” the soldier let out a strangled sound.

 

Han poured them each a mug, though Mitaka declined and decided to stand guard instead. That left the two of them sitting alone at the table, so Han divided the contents of the third cup between the two of them.

 

He sniffed the liquid. “What’s this, anyway? I just swiped it. Didn’t check the label.”

 

“Fruit of the vine,” she told him, lifting her cup to him. “A toast?”

 

His befuddled expression made it clear that this was an aspect of life that he no longer knew.

 

“It’s something you do before drinking, like especially wine or beer,” Rey explained, all the while hating that she had to explain this. “Usually you say toast to something that you hope for, or to someone you appreciate. Like-” she lifted her mug in the towards him, “-to Han Solo, the finest accomplice any smuggler could need.”

 

Clinking her cup against his, she tipped it back down here throat. The wine was stronger than she expected though, and sent her promptly into a hacking fit.

 

“Careful there, kid.” Han gave her hard thump on the back. “Don’t want you dying down here. Hard explain that to the boss.”

 

“No worries, I won’t,” she said, coughing one last time, trying to ignore the ache in her heart. _‘The boss’_. It was a distant title, and the only one that the man that she so highly regarded would ever remember.

 

“Let’s see if I got this right.” Han abruptly rose from his seat, turning up to rest of the canteen. “Hey!”

 

His shout was drowned up by the buzzing of the diners.

 

“Hmm.” The greying fellow glanced down at their drinks, before picking up the empty mug and whacking it against his own. _Clang! Clang! Clang!_

 

It worked. The chatter died down and every soul turned to face them. Rey buried the instinct to dart under the table and hide.

 

“Alright, now that I have your attention, I’m going to make this toast thing. ‘Cause if anyone deserves it, it’s her.”  Raising his cup high and winking at the young goddess, Han declared, “All hail our Lady of the Underground!”

 

Unexpectedly, or perhaps not, this was echoed amongst the other diners, who also raised whatever they had. “All hail our Lady of the Underground!”

 

“All hail our Lady of Ways and Means!”

 

Again came the resonation - “All hail our Lady of Ways and Means!”

 

Grabbing her arm and pulling her up, next to him, Han bellowed, “All hail our Lady of the Upside-down!”

 

This was met with a roar of approval, and even more enthusiastic repetition. The diners cheered, hoorayed and clapped. Under the spotlight of appreciation, Rey was surprised, and somehow she found herself smiling.

 

“Kid,” Han said to her, when the hurrah died down. “Don’t ever think that whatever you’re doing isn’t enough. Trust me, it’s more than any of us deserve.”

 

Rey nodded, though privately she still wondered. Both of them clinked their mugs and took a long drink.

 

Han made a hum of approval. “This is good, but doesn’t have quite have the kick I’m looking for.”

 

“You’d prefer it even stronger?” She pulled a face as she glanced down to the beverage. In her opinion, it was quite potent enough.

 

“Maybe.” He shrugged as he slipped back into his seat. “Maybe I’m just not too big on the fruit of the vine stuff.” He let out a short chortle. “Don’t mind me, kid. Just a fussy old man.”

 

But Rey watched his eyes ran up to ceiling of swinging lamps, and she knew what he was thinking of.

 

She wondered how much of it he remember. Could he remember how blue it was in the day, and how red it turned in the sunset? Could he remember the stars, scattered across the blue-black sky? Could he remember what it was like with a shelter over his head, without anything pushing him down to the ground? She had only been here for a couple of weeks now, and even her memories of the sky were starting to get a little fuzzy. How much could Han possibly remember?

 

It’s not long after that the whistle screeched and everyone in the canteen rose to go. Already, the spirit of summertime had begun to melt and worn, emotionless expressions started to reappear.

 

“It was good talking to you, kid,” Han said before taking his last mouthful, smacking his lips as he did. “Ah, well. It’s back to grinder for me, and back to town for you.”

 

As he prepared to go, Rey scrambled to after him, calling, “Han.”

 

He swung around, cocking his head questioningly.

 

Biting her lip, she said, almost quietly, “Don’t forget me.”

 

Han barked out a laugh. “Your lady-ness, I doubt I could if I tried.” He gave a small bow, grinning widely at her as he slapped his helmet back on.

 

But Rey knew that he would. And with each year, he would remember less and less, and one day she would be looking only down at a stranger.

 

She poured the reminder of the wine into her mug, and took a long, long drink.

 

~~~0~~~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is based on the song 'Our Lady of the Underground' from the musical. I highly recommend giving it a listen, especially with Amber Gray's performance: https://open.spotify.com/track/6dqnT2eojrLfNypp9dQwxh?si=WkGZkzLaQ9q0egIJ-RdPJg
> 
> It's a weirdly amazing song. I especially drew on the lyrics in the song such as:  
> 'I've got the wind right here in a jar.  
> I've got the rain on tap at the bar.  
> I've got the sunshine up on the shelf.  
> Allow me to introduce myself."
> 
> Other 'beverages' that I pretty much lifted from the song are 'spring flowers', 'autumn leaves' and 'moon-shine'.
> 
> When I first heard this song, I was just so struck by this image of some sassy bartender selling intangible representations of spring the way one would sell beers and wine. I just loved the idea, so I had been really looking forward to writing this chapter. 
> 
> What does wind taste like, I wonder?
> 
>  
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, maybe give a kudos or a review. Regardless, wishing you an okay day. :)


	6. The Promise Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the previous chapter.
> 
> Note: Had to reupload a few times due to formatting issues.

Now in Vadertown, there were a lot of souls, but the souls scattered outside the Wall were far greater in number.

 

There was little beyond the Wall but darkness and weeping. Thick in the air was the stench of a perpetual rot, accompanied by the slow, painful erosion of consciousness and the great vacuum of nothingness. Not everyone could bathe under the electric lights and sleep in warmth.

 

To determine who stayed in and who stayed out, all souls had to pass through the court of the afterlife. There, every life would be stripped bare and scrutinized, by the man with a scythe of black and a scale of gold.

 

He sat now on his chromium throne, flanked by his officials who took turns to bring out files and introduce the cases. These days, the workload was high, with hundreds of souls being dropped off at the station every hour. Long ago, Snoke had foreseen this and had nurtured a select number of his subordinates to take aspects of the Judgement. Kylo had adapted the system for his own preferences, which really only shaved off a quarter of his daily burden.

 

“- spent much of it a drunken stupor, and eventually froze to death in a gutter after one such episode,” Commander Canady was saying, his tone rich with disgust. “It is of my opinion, my lord, that we should banish this revolting wretch into the wilderness.”

 

“I thank you, Commander, but I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Kylo Ren, having scanned the file placed before him, now closed it with a snap. He slid across the table, to the man seated across him. “You have anything to say?”

 

“Yes, I do, actually,” the fellow in question spat back. “I poured the best years of my life into making my family into the most respected of our nation, and then they betray me! Rob me blind and-”

 

“And we are done.” The Lord of the Underworld was truly unimpressed. Turning to the officer next to him - “It seems your judgement was accurate. Take him to the Lethe and let him loose into the banks of Phlegethon. The elements will make short work of him.”

 

Commander Canady saluted at him as two troopers came forward, pulling the man to his feet. Panicked, the defendant began to babble. “Wait, my lord, my king – have mercy! I have much riches; gold, silver, ebony and silk-”

 

Kylo only needed to tilt his scythe slightly and the useless pleas were silenced. The trooper carried him out of the room, with Canady following behind to ensure that too the sentence would be carried out.

 

The next soul brought into the room was presented by a Colonel Kaplan, who always kept his reports dry but concise. Despite the beauty of his efficiency however, the Lord of Underworld honestly didn’t remember very much of it. In fact, it took him a good number of minutes to realise that the defendant that now sat across him was a dark-skinned child, with fingers to pale for race and figure too gaunt for her age.

 

“Wait,” he cut in the middle of Kaplan’s presentation. “What was the cause of the death?”

 

“Starvation and cold.” If the colonel was offended by this interruption, he was too professional to show it. “You’ll find it on page six, my lord.”

 

Kylo flipped to the appropriate page and found the greater details of this child’s passing. She was a street urchin, orphaned, and a tussle with some merchant she stole from resulted a broken leg. Unable to walk much, she was left in the corner of the street, begging. But other street children took her earnings and she was powerless to fight them. She died in the cold, hungry and alone.

 

Rare were the occasions that Kylo Ren felt pity. Indeed, even now he felt none. But he could recognise the similarities in another girl he knew.

 

“What is it you want?” he asked the child sitting across him, who was wringing her hands together and looking about the room in bewilderment.

 

She didn’t dare quite meet his eyes, which was understandable, since he was quite the imposing figure. She didn’t answer either.

 

Kaplan looked like he was about bark at the defendant, but Kylo stayed him. Rising from his chromium throne, the King moved around the table, scythe till in his hand. He approached the girl, whose black eyes were watching him with great trepidation. Kneeling down next to her, he appraised her unruly curls, her scrappy attire, the unnatural twisted pose of her left leg.

 

In a voice, not quite kind, but not quite cold, he asked, “What if I can give you a warm place to stay, with three square meals a day?”

 

This earned a wide-eye look from the girl, mixed with eagerness and wariness.

 

“You would need to earn your keep,” Kylo continued. He did not smile. He did not coax. He merely offered, and offered truthfully. “I will not have idle hands in my kingdom.”

 

The child gave an appearance of considering, before finally nodding.

 

“We have a deal then.”

 

The colonel had already come forward with the paperwork, clip to a board, as well as an ink-pad. The girl, who clearly couldn’t write, instead was guided to add her fingerprint at the bottom of the contract, and next to it, Kylo Ren added his own stamp.

 

With that done, he instructed the troopers to take the girl to the river of Lethe. “Have that leg fixed if possible,” he added. “Otherwise, find a chair for her.”

 

“Any specific designations in mind for her, my lord?” Colonel Kaplan inquired as the trooper that had brought her in hoisted her off her chair, cradling her like the child she was. “I assume the mines would be out of the question.”

 

Kylo found himself reaching down his pocket, to the watch that hung from it – the very one that he had made for Rey. “Have her sent to the watchsmith’s,” he said at last. “Her nimble hands would be helpful for his work.”

 

“Yes, my lord.”

 

Much of the cases ran in a similar fashion. A good deal of these deaths involved those who were destitute, for the world of above was cruel to them. He sentenced them as he saw fit, and those under him saw to it that those sentences were fulfilled. Sometimes, if there were no remarkable cases, he would be hand off the rest of the work to one of the officers. This was only to allow him to hurry off to the factories, or the mines, or the construction at the wall, wherever he was needed to give his input. His day would end with a pile of paperwork at his desk and one or two of his subordinates trying to steal a minute or two of his time.

 

He would drop himself back against his chair, pick up the files that had been thrown on his table, and he would review them.

 

Vadertown had a lot of souls, but only so many could it keep. True, it was getting larger, with the workers pushing the walls further out. But it was the only perfect kingdom, not a limitless one. With new souls accepted into the wall, some old ones needed to leave.

 

He had his officials throw together a pile for his consideration, which they were too happy to do so. For that reason, Kylo had to be discerning as he studied the reports, for he knew too well that his underlings would use their power for their own agendas. One official that he caught openly committing such had been banished out to banks of Phlegethon, to join the souls who writhed there under its flames. Justice was not to be skewed.

 

He separated the pile quickly into those that were certainly getting cast out, and those he still wanted to contemplate about. He drank deeply from his cup as he went over the latter lot. After all, if a soul didn’t atone for its deeds in the Underworld, why should its afterlife be enjoyed?

 

His skimming slowed as he got to the middle of the pile. He read the name there, and he cursed.

 

Every now and then, the same name would appear in his hands, and each time, he struggled. Because the owner of that name would always be a stain against his heritage. A weakness. A weight. A wound.

 

The excuses to banish him were many, as his subordinates were generous in providing them. Disrespect towards superiors. Shirking assigned work. Selling contraband from the world above.

 

His old master would have not let him hesitate this long. He would have given his order, and like before, Kylo Ren would have obeyed.

 

But his master was not here any longer, and Kylo Ren was now king.

 

His fingers hovered over his stamps, the very many that he could use to decide the fate of Han Solo. Eventually, he made his choice and reached for one of the large ones, printing it over the form. He filled in the location of transfer, and signed off his name.

 

The last few names were easy to sort. He called Hux and gave him the instructions for the evening before reaching for his cane. After he departed the office building, the train was already waiting at the nearby station, with the conductor standing at the door of his cabin. Kylo wasn’t going to be on board for long, for he was only taking it back home.

 

He was going to have a discussion with his wife.

 

~~~0~~~

 

He didn’t know why he tried, sometimes. These discussions never ended well, and it always ruined dinner.

 

He would confront her over her latest violation, then she would roll her eyes and ask him why he cared. He would proceed to explain why it mattered, which would lead to her refuting by pointing out some minor flaw in his argument. That would lead to him being impatient, and possibly remarking some thinly-veiled snipe. That would lead to her firing back a completely unveiled insult, which would result in him losing his temper. She would be absolutely undaunted by this however, and in fact matched him with her own temper. The both of them would proceed to yell a lot, and possibly throw items at each other if time permitted. If the room of their occupancy was not torn to shreds from rafter down to the boards them, it would be very soon.

 

And then they would part, both in a very foul mood.

 

It was moments like that this that would have Kylo Ren marching up to the old chamber that housed his grandfather’s shrine. Ever since his old master had expressed disapproval of worshiping his grandfather in such a manner – in hindsight, perhaps fearful that his grandfather’s spirit might one day actually respond, Kylo had not returned to the place much. With time, he grew to recognize that clinging to his grandfather’s relics was a reflection of his youthful insecurities. He was King of the Underworld now; he was not going to pray to his grandfather like some foolish pilgrim.

 

But still, some part of him held to hope, that perhaps his youthful belief had some truth. After all, now that he was spent of his mentors, wisps of his old kin were the best that he could.

 

“Grandfather, guide me,” moaned the Great King of the Underworld to the old shrine, head buried in his hands. “How does one deal with the stubbornness of women?”

 

He received no response, except had a strange sense that someone was laughing at him.

 

If things had been different, perhaps… perhaps that was another that he could ask. Another who too had dealt with the stubbornness of women – the most stubborn of women, in fact. It was the most ridiculous of ideas, but after much deliberation and nothing substantial from his grandfather’s relics – not that there was every much result from that – Kylo Ren made his decision.

 

He ordered for transport to the steel factory. That was located along the further edges of Vadertown, and it was always smoking exhaust, so much so that they had to install ventilation shafts that send the fumes out to the surface world. The area was always warm too, and that was why he came only wearing a simple shirt and a vest. Casual, but still enough to express authority.

 

He wasn’t planning to stay at the factory long, as he merely needed to convey his wishes to the foreman and wait. Eventually, two troopers emerged from the entrance of the factory, and between them came a reluctant, scowling figure.

 

His gaze dropped down to the cuffs around the captive’s hands. “The restraints are unnecessary. RN-1307 won’t be doing anything foolish if he knows what’s good for him.”

 

The worker in question however didn’t express any gratitude to this show of grace, and all he murmured when he rubbed free his wrists was, “The name’s Han Solo, which you would know because you’ve read my file.”

 

“You are assigned RN-1307, and my wife calling you anything else does not change that.” Kylo didn’t look at him, only walking down the path that led to the docks. He didn’t want to look at him, for fear that his face might reveal something. “Now keep up, RN-1307.”

 

The walk down to the docks wasn’t exactly pretty, because it was lined with crates and boxes, complete with the cranes required to move them. There were workers pushing the trolleys to move the products from the factories down to the docks, down to the boats there. It wasn’t the fancy of meeting places, but it was a reprieve from the heat of factories.

 

Eventually, Han Solo did catch up with him, possibly because the two troopers behind them forced him to hurry along. “So, my great king,-” the old fellow was puffing by the time they were finally walking side by side. Still, nothing would stop him from lacing his every word with sarcasm, “-I guess I have you to thank for the promotion?”

 

“It’s not a promotion, RN-1307,” was the snappish answer, punctuated with his cane punching the ground. “I simply needed to alter your post so that my wife can’t find you.”

 

“And you think she’s not going to discover the new place you’ve stuck me?”

 

“Well, if nothing else, -” Kylo couldn’t quite help the way his teeth ground together. How is it that even in the afterlife he was this irritating?  “- the trooper-to-worker ratio at the steelworks is significantly highly, making it more difficult for any illegal entrepreneurship to occur.”

 

“Well, that would only matter to those conducting illegal entrepreneurship, sire,” was the chipper reply. The criminal had the audacity to grin at him.

 

As tempting as it was, Kylo did not shove the man headfirst into the water. Instead, he stopped them at the edge of dock, close enough to be able to observe its activity, but isolated enough to avoid eavesdroppers.

 

“So, your royalness, what exactly is it that you need of me?” Han asked him. Somehow, in the short span of their walk, the old man had swiped a kerosene tin. He thought that his attempts to tuck it at the back of his pants was subtle, but the hook on the cane had looped around his wrist and with a sharp jerk, the tin ended up in Kylo’s hand. “Hey!”

 

“It’s not yours,” Kylo snapped, pocketing the stolen item. “How many marks do you really want against your name? Do you have no fear of the Great Beyond?”

 

“ _Great Beyond, Sm-ate Beyond_ ,” was the muttered response. Han didn’t even bother to ask for permission before seating himself on top of a nearby crate, even throwing one of his feet up for good measure.

 

As the Lord of the Underworld, it was well within his rights to banish a disrespectful cretin such as Han Solo this very moment. But he had an agenda for meeting him, and he would see that fulfilled. So burying his wrath for now, the young god said, “For some reason, my wife holds you in high regard, so I’ve come to seek your counsel.”

 

Han Solo, the dense buffoon he was, just stared at him.

 

Letting out a very exasperated sigh, Kylo amended his statement, “Rey likes you, and I can’t understand it.”

 

“You can’t understand her, specifically why she’s mad at you,” the old man inferred, amusement scrawled all over his wrinkled features. “And you’ve come to ask for my help.”

 

Reluctantly, Kylo nodded – but only once, and it was very, very slight.

 

“Well, I don’t know what advice I can give you, your greatness.” Han pushed himself off the crate and lumbered over to the dock’s edge. “Seeing as I can’t recall any of the women in my life. Though-” peering down at his reflection on the water surface, “-as the ruggedly handsome man that I am, I’m sure I had no shortage.”

 

_Oh, the temptation, the temptation…_ “Well, in that case, would you care to enlighten the company of your wisdom?”

 

The old fellow probably had no sense of self-preservation, for he then went on to say, “Don’t know if you’ve realised it, your majesty, but her ladyship doesn’t belong here.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Kylo’s cane had grown into its scythe form, with the blade being brandished quite menacingly. “Would you mind saying that louder and more stupidly?”

 

To that, however, Han only waved dismissively. “Oh, c’mon, you can’t seriously be so blind as to think that Rey really enjoys being down here. I’m dead and I don’t even like the land of the dead much.” Rolling back one of his shoulders and cracking his neck, he continued, “I know the people upstairs call her the Queen of the Green, and it’s the truth. She likes to bring summer times to people, even that tiny bit that she gives us dead people. It’s who she is.”

 

Deep down inside, Kylo was well aware of all this – too aware, perhaps. But deep down inside these thoughts often stayed, for bringing them to the surface would bring him more turmoil that he could bear.

 

So instead he said nothing, and chose to stare resolutely in the distance.

 

But the stubborn fool was relentless. “It’s killing her, you know. Keeping her down here.”

 

Now that immediately earned an incredulous expression from Kylo, followed by a very dark expression.

 

“You want to know why she’s upset? Because you know, and _she knows_ that _you know_. And you still do it.”

 

“She’s my wife!” was the snarled protest. Somehow, all the noise from the grounding gears to the roaring furnace all seemed a distance dream. In that deafening silence, only his voice could be hear, rumbling like the thunder. “Do I not have a right to her companionship? Do I not have a right to have the woman I love rule by my side? Is it right that mortals, who pass like dust in the wind, have a greater share of her than I?”

 

Han Solo, though mortal, still stared at Death in the face, and asked quietly, in an almost … _paternal_ way, “Has it occurred to you that by holding on so tightly, you’re gonna lose the very thing that you’re holding onto?”

 

The Lord of the Underworld did not answer so quickly. But when he did, each word was heavy with bitterness. “That will most certainly happen if you don’t try holding on at all.”

 

To that, the old man only frowned and looked very puzzled. He no doubt understood that there was something behind those words, but his blank memories could not fill those gaps.

 

This entire endeavor had been a waste of time, and Kylo Ren sorely regretted ever thinking of it. Calling for the troopers that were still waiting at a distance, he ordered, “Return RN-1307 to work. I have no further use for him.”

 

“You’re a downright fool, you know that, kid?” Han yelled as they grabbed him by the shoulders, forcefully leading him back up to the factories. “A downright fool!”

 

“Don’t call me that!” he screamed back, resisting the urge to swing his scythe at something – anything.

 

He didn’t, which was why his mood was very sour indeed upon his return to his estate. The words of Han Solo rang continuously in his head, and he despised himself for listening to them. In fact, he despised himself for even preserving the old man’s soul for this long.

 

As he made ready to rest that night, still ruminating on the events of his tumultuous day, it occurred to him how late the hour grew. Calling for an attendant, Kylo inquired for him to seek out the lady of the household.

 

“Forgive me, my Lord, but her ladyship has already retired at her quarters for the night,” the servant answered timidly. “Perhaps, if there’s anything to be conveyed – it might be done when the lady awakes?”

 

Anger and indignation filled him, and he felt sorely the urge to demand for the servant to go down to _her ladyship’s_ room, arouse her immediately and drag her here. But then something stayed his speech – wisdom perhaps, or the words of Han Solo. Or guilt. Probably guilt.

 

“Forget it,” he told the trembling attendant at last. “Let her rest.”

 

So he slept alone that night, the first time he had since her return, and it felt like she was already gone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some Rivers that had been referenced to in this chapter, and they are from Greek Mythology rather than Star Wars. I'll probably explain more on them when it's relevant. Otherwise, whatever the story says should be sufficient. 
> 
> Hopefully, unless inspiration lets otherwise, that the next chapter might be a flashback! And maybe even introduce more characters! 
> 
>  
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, consider giving a comment, kudos or anything. Regardless, have a pleasant day.


	7. Songbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After trying to draft this chapter a few times, I had a flash of inspiration and ended up with ...this thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flashback.

Don’t fidget at your table, Ben.

Don’t throw your books around, Ben.

Don’t punch your classmates in the face, Ben, even if they really irritating and they haven’t let up since the beginning of the year and still they’re still going at it and everything in you is screaming ‘ _kill, kill, kill_ ’.

Don’t talk back at your elders, Ben.

Don’t play truant, Ben.

Don’t run off to rough side of town, Ben.

Don’t give your lunch money to buskers on the street, Ben.

Don’t listen to the songs that they’re singing, Ben. Especially songs about the road to hell and the train that goes all the way down below.

Don’t ask them, Ben, about the sparkling jewels that they have there, or the piles of gold, or the buried treasure.

Don’t go that way, Ben.

Not so far out in the fields, Ben.

Not this late at night, Ben.

Not towards the blowing whistle and the chugging wheels, Ben.

Not towards the railroad track, Ben.

Stay away from that man, Ben - that man coming down from the train. That man with the shades and the dark black coat.

Don’t let him walk down the track with you, Ben. Don’t let him speak kindly to you and tip sweet poison down your ears.

Don’t take the coin from him, Ben. Don’t twirl it in your palm and observe how it shines like silver in moonlight.

Come home, Ben.

Come home, and bury yourself under the covers.

Come home, and tuck that silver coin in the bottom most drawer, and forget.

Not a word to your mother - she doesn’t need to worry.

Not a word to your father - he wouldn’t understand.

Not a word to your uncle - but he might already know.

Maybe keep the coin in your palm. Keep it close to your heart.

Just in case. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn’t quite like this form of writing, don’t worry. Normal prose should be back in the next chapter.
> 
> As I get further down my writing, I might consider revising this experimental whatnot into a formal prose. Otherwise, I do like how it allows me to shroud Ben’s past in a little more mystery. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this little snippet, hope that you might leave a review - or leave one if you don’t. Regardless, have a nice day.


	8. An Old Tale of Way Back Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You could read as a continuation of Chapter 7, or it can just be a flashback. 
> 
> As for Chapter 7, glad to see that it was relatively well received despite...not matching the normal format. May along the way other tidbit like that would be sprinkled in the story. We'll see how it goes.
> 
> NOTE: Reuploaded for AO3 issues.

“Have you ever thought of charging them, uncle?”

 

They had spent the entire day in the temple. After all, the line that had formed outside was said to have wound all the way down, to the main square of Chandrila city. Everyone, from the wealthiest of officials to the lowliest of beggars, had been eager for an audience with the _Luke Skywalker_ of legend.

 

The _Luke Skywalker_ who could, no doubt, vanquish their worries with the flick of his hand and shower them with blessings with twist of the other. He would listen to them all, great and small, and addressed their requests in the way he deemed fit. It was the same with every city, every village and every kingdom that his uncle travelled to.

 

Accompanying him were his mortal followers, those who had pledged to serve him and the populace. And there was himself too. The awkward nephew, who was still unsure of his place in all this.

 

“Charging who, Ben?” Luke inquired, pausing his work with the broom. Around him, the followers were all occupied with tidying up the temple. After all, with so many having passed through its gates today, the entire place was a mess and in desperate need of a good clean. However, the Lord of Life was not one to sit on his hands while his servants scrubbed and mopped, even on the site that was dedicated to him. The Great Jedi was first and foremost a servant, for how could one lead except through service?

 

It was a philosophy that he impressed strongly upon his young nephew, who himself replenishing the melted candles around the hall. That said, his young nephew was not really all that impressed.

 

“The people who come to you.” The young man released a breathe as he heaved another box of candles onto the altar table. “If you charged them, they wouldn’t bother you with such banal matters.”

 

At that, the bearded god in the simple robes let out a chuckle as he continued his sweeping. “Well, that sounds like something your father said to me.”

 

Upon hearing this, his young apprentice’s ears perked up with interest. “He did? And what did you tell him?”

 

“Well, my dear nephew,” Luke said, with a wry smile. “I told him that the Force hadn’t granted me this gift to make a businessman. After all, I am a servant of the Force, and the Force flows through all living beings – rich or poor. How could I possibly discriminate people based on their coin?”

 

His words were sound. So for the next week, Ben made no complaint as the same repeated, only at different temples in different towns. He did not raise his brow when his uncle took the offerings placed at his altars and gave them away to the poor. He didn’t shake his head when his uncle refused the grovelling and bended knees, instead having his ‘guests’ seated side-by-side with him. He didn’t argue when his uncle had opted not to attend the banquet that was to be held in his honour, wishing to make haste to next county.

 

“To accept the offerings, Ben, is to open oneself temptation,” Luke instructed him one night, while they camped under the stars. Though the town they were passing through had offered them shelter at their grand castle, his uncle had declined. “To be used to such luxury, such accolades – too soon, you would find your judgement skewed towards those who can buy your favours, rather than those who genuinely need your aid.”

 

“Compassion.” He tapped on his own chest, over his heart. “A love of all living things – that’s the way of the Light, Ben. That’s what differentiates us from the Sith.”

 

The boy nodded quietly. He was born at the end of the war, after the reign of the Sith had ended. So he had been fortunate enough to have never known the suffering under the cruel gods of the time. He knew that the one that had called himself ‘Emperor’, the one who had hailed from the Underworld, had surrounded himself with great wealth and feasted on the power that it gave him. He had been a slave to his appetites, as Luke had once told him, and with those appetites, he had enslaved the world.

 

Though he knew these tales were ones of warning, sometimes, as Ben lay in his own sleeping bundle, with the hard rocks poking him from below and a cold breeze brushing his skin, he wondered what it would feel like to be have everything.

 

One of his hands reached under his shirt, to the silver coin hanging on the chain around his neck. His fingers danced over its cool surface.

 

~~~0~~~

 

He did not have many friends, and the only letters he received were from his mother.

 

They came by her favourite messenger owl, an old but trusty avian known as Artoo. The bird, who could be spotted at a distance by its grey-ish white and blue feathers, always knew where to find him, no matter where his uncle’s party travelled.

 

Admittedly, the longer Ben had been on the road, the greater the space of time between their letters, both sent and received. So all the more he savoured what each small scroll would bring him, the way one would savour an expensive glass of wine. Then he would carefully pen his reply in a fresh sheet of paper, roll it up and send it off with Artoo.

 

His mother claimed that her work was much alike to Luke’s, that they were all for the sake of keeping peace and prosperity. But that’s where the similarities ended. Whereas Luke’s gifts were needed by all - rich and poor, old and young - his mother’s talents brought her specifically into the spheres of rulers and monarchs. Luke spent his hours rubbing shoulders with farmers and cowmen. His mother spent hers dining with kings and ministers.

 

It was all for the good of mankind, perhaps, but their methods were greatly different, and the rewards as well.

 

“Why wasn’t I apprenticed to my mother instead, uncle?” Ben once asked after reading a letter from his mother. Between the greetings and her inquiries of his progress, it had detailed the opulence of the ruler that she was currently a guest of. The boy couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be treated with such honour.

 

At that, his uncle snorted. “No offence, my boy, but nothing in your demeanour has ever indicated that you’d be at home with politicians.”

 

True, for Ben was not exactly the epitome of tact and grace. He had no love for roundabout conversation and had little patience with snivelers and bootlickers. But he didn’t exactly feel at home with the peasants and the ruffians either.

 

All the same, he had tried to absorb all the lessons that his uncle wanted him to learn. He had tried to always speak with a gentle tone and serve with a kind smile. He had tried to have compassion for the mortals that came their way, with their lost expressions and their worn faces.

 

But staying so long amongst the desperate and desolate also opened one’s eyes to the ugliness of humanity.

 

Once, in a town riddled with famine and disease, the people had begged Luke to touch the land, to restore them back to prosperity and abundance. But after surveying the land, Luke had refused. He had been here many times before, had healed the land as the people had asked, and each time he returned the place had become worse than before. The people had scattered their seeds before tilling the earth. They bred livestock without first gathering enough feed for them. They had built damns and irrigation channels without caring how it would hurt their neighbours downstream – not to mention the surrounding creatures on land and in water. They did not listen to the land, so the land withdrew its fruits.

 

This denial was met with surprise at first. Then with horror. Then with anger.

 

That day was the first time Ben ever witnessed outright hostility towards the Lord of Life. But the shock from that did not match how he felt when his uncle only said that they should leave quietly.

 

“You had helped them before, and now when you refuse, they riot! How can you let this stand?” the boy protested to the Great Jedi. A bundle of linen had been pressed into his grasp for folding, but he was too agitated to do any of chores now.

 

Pushing the cloths aside, he marched after his uncle, who was going around the house of their temporary residence and giving orders to his subordinates. They were no longer welcome, after all, so it was best that they made their hasty departure. “You’re a _god_! Are you seriously letting them treat you this way?”

 

“Their folly is their punishment,” Luke answered firmly as he reached over to his suitcase and began to pack his belongings inside. In went the decanter of the fruit of the vine, along with a stack of books and his staff – the staff that had once smite the Emperor of Darkness. “A little longer in scarcity will hopefully open their eyes, and maybe they’ll alter their ways.”

 

“It’s not enough,” Ben insisted. In his ears echoed the insults that villagers had hurled at them as the left the town hall. The spiteful expressions. The spit, and the dirt flung their way. “They should treat you with respect and reverence. They should fear you!”

 

“ _Fear_?” Abruptly, the older god’s placid expression was replaced with a stricken one. His eyes, alit with a strange flame, darted to Ben, and somehow that was enough to make the boy step back.

 

“Fear,” Luke repeated the word, his voice deep all of a sudden, “is the path to the dark side. Fear,-” he spun slowly to the boy, making him take a step back, “-leads to anger. Anger to hate. Hate to suffering.”

 

In all his life, Ben had never seen such ferocity in the Great Jedi’s expression, never heard such thunder in his voice. The air around them thrummed with power, slowly building with each second, awaiting the inevitable explosion. His uncle, half a head shorter than him and decades older, was surrounded with an aura of energy so tangible that it seemed to steal the very breath from his lungs.

 

The young man found himself shirking back, his entire body trembling. For a moment, he feared that his uncle might raise his staff, and raise it against him.

 

And the moment was over. The tension in air cleared, as if someone had opened the window and fanned it all away.

 

Ben found his chest still heaving, his mouth hanging slack. Luke himself appeared a little dazed, and he shook himself roughly.

 

“Go pack your things, my boy,” the bearded Jedi said at last. He reached out and clapped his hand on Ben’s shoulder – a familiar gesture, and one of affection. Yet the boy winced inwardly, as he imagined that strong, warm hand knocking him over.  

 

The next day, before light, their party set off. Luke had already chosen their next destination, and hopefully the reception there would be warmer.

 

As they passed through the sordid settlement one last time, Ben noted the wilted crops blown in the wind. He noted the glassy eyes that watched their party through the shattered windows. He noted the clogged and muddy river, ripe with decomposition. The wind in the barren trees seemed to wail, and the rain that came pouring seconds later seemed to be the final nail in the coffin.

 

If this occurred when Luke Skywalker withdrew his hand, what would happened if he stretched it out?

 

~~~0~~~

 

He knew that his uncle’s eye was upon him. True, he had been apprenticed under his uncle precisely so that his uncle could keep an eye on him. But this felt different.

 

He knew that even his uncle’s mortal followers had been taking turns to keep watch. Upon him was a constant gaze, monitoring his every move. What he had done to earn such attention, Ben wasn’t sure. Maybe the exchange at the dying village had truly disturbed his uncle, and now Ben was paying the price for his rash words. Well, he'd just humble himself a bit for now, put on his best behaviour and show his uncle that he had nothing to worry about.

 

But even months after the incident, the tension hadn’t ebbed away in the slightest. If anything, his ‘extra-good’ behaviour earned even more suspicious looks from Luke. They had never been the closest of relatives before, just a cordial student-teacher pair. But now, even that was being slowly eroded.

 

To escape the terse company, Ben found himself retreating to whatever bar, canteen or tavern that the next town had. Sure, the beverages tasted like sludge and the patrons reeked a hundred different odours, but at least he could breathe for a few hours.

 

“Why the struggle? Why the strain?”

 

The young man jumped, almost knocking over the drink that he had purchased. Then again, spilling this swill would have probably been no great loss.

 

The one who had interrupted his solitude appraised this with much amusement. “Careful there. Don’t want to make a mess out of yourself.”

 

She was a gaunt, wiry figure, with skin the shade of ash and not a speck of hair on her head. Dark marks had been drawn around her eyes and black lines traced along the down turn of her lips. On her person, she was enclosed in a form fitting suit, held together by long rope-like strips of cloth and covered with a long cloak. She resembled a ghoul far more than the living, and something in her wry smirk made him wonder if she knew that fact.

 

Her voice was harsh, with a raspy quality. “My sisters and I have been watching you for some times, and we agree that you might be need of our services.”

 

These words were accompanied by a sharp jerk of her chin across the tavern, to the corner where two other women were seated in stools. Both of them also had painted faces; one had her skin coloured orange, with white lines scratched upon her skin; the other had her skin green, with brown markings printed on her cheeks.

 

Ben was perhaps naïve to the ways of the world, but he was not so blind as not to notice the painted women who lingered in these establishments. Some stalked the tables like predators looking for a kill, while others drifted about in fretful state, hunger in their gaze. His uncle had warned against such indulgence, which made him more curious about them than anything. But Ben was wise enough to know that he would be just a customer. Just a victim to lure in with false promises. Just a means to an end. Somehow, out of everything in this den of crime, that was what sent a chill down his spine.

 

Just as a refusal was about to leave his lips, the women with ashen skin pulled out from behind her a fiddle and its bow. A dark grin stretched across her angular cheeks. “Nothing’s quite like a song to raise one’s spirit, would you say?”

 

Oh. That kind of service.

 

A fondness for the arts was something that his mother had inculcated him in his youth. Even in the current ascetic lifestyle of his uncle’s making, Ben still found himself drawn to them. There was something in the colours of a tapestry that would catch his eye. There was something in the turn of a tune that would turn his head. Sure, the crude songs and the bawdy themes that the common folk were fond of never quite suited his taste. But even a fraction that was welcome now.

 

It was for this reason that he took out a few coins, and placed it in the painted musician’s hand. She shot him a toothy smile, before sauntering over to her ‘sisters’, one who apparently carrying a tambourine and the other an accordion. The three then gathered in the centre of the bar, each of their painted faces seeming to glow in the candlelight. Other patrons, no doubt familiar with this act, gathered round, eager to enjoy the free show.

 

Pleased with the attention, the three spread themselves around their make-shift stages. Then, the one with green skin began to hum out the first note, slapping her tambourine against her knee.

 

Her fellow musicians then joined her, tapping their feet hard with their boots, their instruments gradually melting into the harmony. Ben found himself raising a brow – they were actually in tune.

 

The crowd began to clap their hands in time, heads bobbing along as well.

 

_“Once upon a time, there was a railroad line,”_ the one with the tambourine sang.

 

_“Don’t ask where, brother. Don’t ask when,”_ her orange skin sister continued, fingers skidding nimbly over the keys of her accordion.

 

_“It was the road to hell,”_ the ashen-skinned hissed out, her white teeth a sharp contrast to her discoloured countenance. _“It was hard times.”_

 

_“It was a world of gods-”_ did the one on the accordion wink at him? _“-and men!”_

 

In harmony, they sang, bouncing back and forth on their feet, _“It’s an old song. It’s an old tale from way back when.”_

The crowd joined along, for apparently this tune was known amongst them. _“It’s an old song. But we’re gonna sing it again.”_

 

Despite himself, Ben found himself clapping along. He didn’t smile – or if he did, he didn’t notice.

 

Voices melding together with an almost haunting precision, the sisters sang, _“Now on the road to hell, there was a maiden fair.”_

 

_“And the fiercest god Earth’s ever seen,”_ crooned the one with tambourine.

 

_“And brothers,”_ the ashen skin one proclaimed, sliding her bow down the strings, _“begins the tragic affair of a Jedi -”_

 

_“-and his doomed Queen!”_ the one with the accordion concluded for her sister.

 

This made Ben lean forward. Amongst the tales of that his uncle had told him of the Old Jedi, this hadn’t been one of them.

 

He took in the story that the sisters told in harmonised chorus, absorbing it the way he would his uncle’s lessons. He drank in the verses about the passion, the deceit, the sordid details entwined in the dark tale. No doubt it was embellished for entertainment, but wasn’t every legend rooted in truth? If this was so, the Jedi of Old were not quite the pillars of virtue his uncle had often painted. They were tempted by power and pride. And by love, it seemed.

 

_“No one quite knew where he had gone,”_ one sister lamented.

_“So she left behind the twins she’d borne,”_ another continued.

_“And she took the train along the railroad track,”_ the last one was almost whispering.

_“Off to Hell it went,”_ the three boomed together _, “and she never came back!”_

 

The crowd joined in for the chorus.

 

_“It’s a sad song – yes, a sad song!_

_It’s a sad tale. It’s a tragedy._

_It’s a sad song – yes, a sad song._

_But we sing it anyway.”_

 

The song ended with much gusto, with lots of cheering and even some coin-tossing. The sisters took their bows, and waved at the appreciative audience.

 

So much of a crowd had gathered that Ben had to squeeze his way to the front. The trio of musicians by then had packed up their things, as well as most of spilled coin, and appeared to be on their way out of the tavern. “Wait! Hold a second!”

 

They did halt their steps, all turning towards him. All three heads cocked to the side simultaneously, questioning.

 

“Um,-” feeling slightly intimidated under their collective gazes, but still determined to get some answers, Ben spluttered out, “The story that you sang – is it true?”

 

The one with orange skin was the first to answer. “Yes.”

 

“From a certain point of view,” the ashen-skinned one added wryly.

 

“My dear Ventress,” the green-skinned one said in a testy but formal manner, “we’ve had this conversation before. It’s either true or not. Points of view are quite invalid.”

 

“Well.” The woman in question sneered. “that’s only according to your extremely questionable moral code, which you adjust based on your convenience.”

 

“Forgive the bickering of my sisters, Ben Solo,” the orange-skinned said, stepping forward. Now that she was nearer, he could see that she apparently had her braid hair coloured strangely in blue and white. And she was also quite tall. “We may work well together, but we rarely agree with about-” she halted to think “-anything.”

 

The young man startled. “How did you know my name?”

 

“We know everyone’s name,” the green-skinned one said.

 

“It’s part of the job,” the one called Ventress added.

 

Ben peered quizzically at their music cases.

 

“You will learn in time, if your uncle doesn’t explain it to you,” the one with orange-skin supplied, throwing her case over her back. A mysterious expression crossed her painted features. “Don’t judge him too harshly. He does care for you.”

 

He bit his lip, finding himself unable to meet the tall woman’s gaze for some reason. He felt a pat on his shoulder, before the lady spun around and headed out the door.

 

The one called Ventress made to follow, but paused. Rather hastily, she said to him, “I’d sleep lightly, if I were you.”

 

With no further elaboration, she too was gone.

 

Puzzled, Ben was about to return to the table with his drink, but his path blocked by the green-skinned one. Though her expression was pensive, there was something bright in her eye, something that made him ill-at-ease. “The coin – do you have still it?”

 

The hairs on his arms stood on end. The weight of the object in question suddenly felt heavy around his neck. Unable to speak, he nodded.

 

“Good,” she said with a smile. It should feel assuring, but there was something of about it… something that was … a little too _knowing_. “Keep it close to you.”

 

“But,-” the young man pulled a sceptical face “-what for?”

 

“You’ll know when the time comes,” was her only answer, still with the serene smile.

 

Then she too vanished out of the door. _‘Vanished’_ being the principle word, because when Ben stuck his head out of the tavern opening, there was no one there.

 

He returned to his drink, which remained surprisingly untouched through all that had occurred. But he had no urge to consume it.

 

Instead, he pulled on the chain around his neck, letting the silver coin attached there fall into his palm.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this kinda ended up a bit like a song-fic, which I had somehow manage to avoid thus far, despite this series being based on a musical. The song here is the Opening number of Hadestown called "Road to Hell", which does not have any of the instruments stated in this fic but...I really wanted the trio to sing. 
> 
> As for the Three 'Sisters', you may know who they take the role of if you've listened/watched/read the synopsis of the musical. If not, it'll be revealed eventually. If you've watched the Star Wars canonical Clone Wars series, you might be able to identify all of them. 
> 
> Well, that's all for now. If you've enjoyed this chapter, leave a kudos or a review to let me know. Regardless, hope you have a nice day!


	9. The Seed and The Sickle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to some time after Chapter 2 & 3 (when Rey and Kylo had first met)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More than 100 kudos! Yay, thanks guys.  
> To celebrate, I have created a Moodboard!  
> But apparently I have to upload on some online site in order to link it to AO3, and that's way too complicated for me. So I guess I'll be the only one to enjoy my moodboard...which might be the purpose of a moodboard ....so that works out.
> 
> EDIT: Okay! I finally worked out how to upload my Moodboard! It was kinda fun making it, so hope you guys like it. It's uploaded on the first chapter (like all the cool kids)

Jakku had been once a desert. A dead land, they said, until the Lord of Light had laid his hands on the ground.

 

The sand turned into soil, rich and thick. The blazing sun was tempered into a courteous glow. The dry winds turned into the dainty breezes. Rivers ran where bones were once buried, and then life just burst forth.

 

Now, running through Jakku was a railroad track, where there had not been one before. And along that track walked a weary soul.

 

Over his shoulders was a cloak that he didn’t belong to him, and over his feet were boots as heavy as chains. His body was faint with hunger and his mind muddled from the thirst. After trekking so far, so long in the dry weather, under the sweltering glare of a sun that his skin was unused to feeling, he wondered if he had made the right choice. He was unused to the air, strangely clear and dry. He was unused to the brightness, how it filled everything around him, barely leaving a cranny of darkness. He had no idea that the world could be so vast, and he had no idea where he was going.

 

All the same, from the minute his feet leapt from the still-running train, there had been no turning back. If he returned to the Underground, there would be only one destination set for him – the Great Beyond.

 

So he turned from the tracks that had been set before him, and instead continued on in the wilderness of his choice. He crossed hill, rock and tree. The journey was tiring, but tolerable. But the further he ventured from the track, the worse he felt. He still persisted, knowing full well that his old colleagues might be seeking him out.

 

But the clear sweet air was like poison in his lungs. The water he raised to his lips tasted bitter and he had to spit it out. Even with the heat beating on him and the cloak wrapped around him, he felt cold. So unbearably cold.

 

His legs eventually gave out, and he tumbled backwards, unto the sharp grass.

 

It occurred to him then, with his eyes starting to glaze over, that with his soul bound to the Underworld – did he even stand a chance in the world above?

 

His chest felt tight. His breaths were short. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak – not that any would have heard him. He could only wonder where his soul would go, now that he had taken lifted it from its final resting place and brought it out to the world above. Would he now dwell here, in perpetual purgatory? Or would he shrivel up in the heat, into a pile of ash?

 

Jakku had been once a desert. A dead land, they said, until the Lord of Light had laid his hands on the ground.

 

And the man lying in the middle of field was dead. Had been for the longest time, and the forces that sustained his consciousness could not reach him up here. He was dead as a door knob, as he should be.

 

That was, until a young woman returning from Niima’s Output, the biggest city within Jakku, came across him. She was at that time pushing a cart, full of goods that she hadn’t been able to trade. She was hesitant, for she knew that the roads to Niima were rife with thieves, and who knew if this might be a deception. But under her hardened exterior, her heart was soft.

 

She carefully lay the axle of her cart down, and she crept towards the form that lay on the ground.

 

Her eyes spotted no wound, but some reason his skin felt cold. The man’s chest wasn’t moving. She felt no breath under his nostrils.

 

He was dead. Dead as a door knob.

 

In her heart, she felt pity for him. Could he have been a traveler, laid to waste by some prowling highwaymen? Or had he suffered some great illness, and it so happen to strike him now? He departed the world without a shout, without a whimper, and the world had gone on spinning.

 

It was pity that she reached a hand to his face, cupping it in her own gently as she gazed down at him. And she wished that there had only been more time for this poor soul.

 

Jakku had been once a desert. A dead land, they said, until the Lord of Light had laid his hands on the ground.

 

And when her finger touched his face and wished in her heart more time for the dead stranger –

 

– the dead stranger abruptly sat up, gasping.

 

Rey screamed before slapping him across the face.

 

~~~0~~~

“There’s been an awakening,” intoned the Lord of the Underworld.

 

Kylo Ren, down on one knee out of reverence, raised his head at his master’s declaration. “My Lord?”

 

The gnarled countenance morphed into one of amusement. “Don’t tell you have not detected it, my apprentice? Or have your senses grown dull?”

 

Though the red-headed director stood far behind him, Kylo could sense his smugness, no doubt pleased that his rival had made some error. That rival quickly buried his own mounting anger, bending his head low as he answered with all the humility he could muster, “Forgive me, master, for missing this.”

 

But he hadn’t. He had felt it. The whole of the Underworld had felt it. The city had trembled for a good number of minutes when it occurred, and even long after that strange quake had passed, its citizen had questions. Most were wise enough, however, to not voice them.

 

“It is one thing for a man to escape the jaws of death,” Snoke rasped, his long nails tapping against the side of the chromium throne. “Many have done so, and in the end, death will have them still. _But-_ ” he dragged a nail along the surface of his armrest, the _screech_ sending a wince through everyone in standing in the hall “-it is quite another for a very much dead man to return to the living. That’s not quite right, is it, my boy?”

 

“I will scourge the surface, my Lord,” the reaper quickly said. “I will search far and wide, leaving no stone unturned. I will bring him back, and ensure that he is punished.”

 

“Yes, yes, that must be done.” Snoke’s tone was dismissive. “But you’re missing something quite important here boy. I don’t know if you truly are so dense, _or_ -” he crossed his spindly fingers together “-you’re ignoring the obvious.”

 

Men did not raise themselves from the dead. Even amongst the gods, there was only one could such a deed. “Luke Skywalker.”

 

“Yes, Skywalker. The lone light in a world of darkness,” sneered his master. “After so long, one wonders what has brought him back into the game.” His long nails curled around the ornate goblet that sat next to him. He swirled it slowly. “He must be stopped, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Kylo Ren repeated.

 

“Then you know what must be done. Director Hux,-” the Lord of the Underworld raised his head, his beady eyes darting from his apprentice, to the man standing at the back of the hall “-how soon would the project be completed?”

 

“It _is_ completed, my Lord,” Hux said, stepping forward and kneeling down the way the reaper. From the periphery of his vision, Kylo spotted the poorly hidden smirk over the redhead’s face. “We merely need to carrying it up to surface, and deliver it to the appropriate destination.”

 

“Have your men work at triple speed. I expect a favourable report by the end of today. As for you, my reaper, my right hand,-” the eyes that tore through the souls of the dead, that sought to tear into him that very moment “-you will hunt down your old master, and snuff the Light out, for once and for all.”

 

“Yes, my Lord,” both of them said simultaneously, hands clasp against their chest and head bowing.

 

They took their leave of the Lord of the Underworld, but before parting ways, the director remarked, “You know something, don’t you? You know how all this happened.”

 

Kylo narrowed his eyes at the object of his unadulterated detestation. “Yes. Your incompetence.”

 

“Please.” Hux let out scoff. “You were on that train too, and your presence didn’t change the outcome. No, I refer to how you deliberately decided withhold information from our Supreme Lord. I can’t help but wonder what might drive you take such a risk.” His gaze dropped down to Kylo’s coat.

 

The buttonless coat.

 

Kylo Ren kept his expression impassive, as if a mask had slipped over his features.

 

“You might want to see tailor in the lower town. He might be able to fix your problem,” the Director said, picking up his hat from the rack on the wall. Placing over his head, he swept away, troopers falling in behind him.

 

The reaper of souls himself moved with purpose. Departing the Judgement hall, he flagged down the nearest carriage. “Get me to the communications towers,” he ordered the driver. “Immediately.”

 

The driver nodded, before lifting his whip and cracking it in the air.

 

For the several minutes of the ride felt like hours, and Kylo Ren leapt from his ride before the horses had even drawn to a complete stop. Pushing through doors and all the fools that stood in his way, he burst into the main office.

 

His rather dramatic arrival startled the officers stationed all around the long tables, even those with their ears smashed against their receivers.

 

Marching over to an officer posted at the switchboard, Kylo demanded, “Get Captain Phasma on the line.” She would accept his orders without too many questions.

 

“Captain Phasma, sir?” a nearby corporal at one of the telegraph monitors put in. When the reaper’s dark gaze fell on him, he gulped, before elaborating, “Director Hux had her sent with a platoon to the surface. Their transport has just departed the station.”

 

Trust Hux to meddle. “Departed for what destination?”

 

The corporal glanced down at his log book, flipping pages quickly, before answering quickly, “Jakku, sir.”

 

 “Would they be passing any stations before they surface?”

 

“Three, sir,” another soldier then piped in. “But at this point, they would have passed the first and possible the second. There might be a chance you can still get them at the station right before the Northwest exit.”

 

“You,-” Kylo’s finger was almost jabbing the corporal in the face “-come with me.”

 

He had the corporal lead him to a more private communications office, one restricted to higher ranking officers. Seating the subordinate at the working desk, he said, “Breathe not a word of this to anyone, and you might gain a name in the near future, Corporal-” glancing down at the numeral printed on under his crest  “-ME7118.”

 

The officer nodded as he hastily begun fiddling with the necessary knobs and straightening out the tangled wires. As he set up, Kylo approached the window which overlooked the streets below. Though it was unlikely anyone from below could see him, what with the dimmed lights of the office and the height of the communications tower. But nonetheless, he drew the blinds.

 

It took several minutes before the corporal was finally message, and Kylo narrated for him the message to send.

 

[Urgent STOP Delay Jakku Train STOP Kylo Ren Order STOP]

 

They didn’t have to wait long before the register began to click. The armature began to move as dots and lines were churned out on a thin strip of paper – short one. Kylo hunched over the corporal as he ripped the paper off, glancing over the coded letters.

 

“Well?” He prompted. “What does it say?”

 

The corporal raised his head, face pale. “Too late.”

 

~~~0~~~

 

“For the last time, you weren’t really dead!”

 

“I was! I definitely was, and you know it.”

 

Their whole debate about whether he had been actually dead, was quite irrelevant to the fact that they were running for their lives.

 

Rey sorely regretted all the compassion that she had shown to the stranger that accompanied her now. Had she not disturbed his body in the woods, had she not brought him back to her home despite his incomprehensible ramblings – she would not be caught up in this mess.

 

They had arrived just as the sun was about to dip into the horizon. She had not seen them at first, for they had hidden in the fields. But she had heard the rustling, and that had prompted to look out of the window.

 

Her guest had looked out of the window too, and that was when he said, “We need to go. Like, now.”

 

She had not agreed. She was no stranger to ambush, for Plutt had sent hooligans after her when she had displeased him – and that was fairly often. She knew how to brawl, how to pummel and how to slam good sense into their heads with her staff.

 

But she didn’t know how to repel bullets.

 

With an unseen enemy closing around, they had fled from the backdoor, speeding across the cleared land. With night fall, a chilly wind had set upon them, but thankfully her, poncho helped to stave off some of the cold. Of course, they couldn’t care about the weather with their hearts pounding at staccato.

 

“What did you do to those people?” Rey hissed as she pulled them both behind a craggy formation, avoiding a volley of gunfire. “Are you a criminal?”

 

“I told you!” The stranger sounded like he was grating his teeth. “I. Was. Dead!”

 

“Well, if they think you’re dead, why are they still trying to kill you?” Firing ceased, with the soldiers probably needing to reload their weapons. Grabbing the likely-fugitive by his arm, she led them further downhill, into the currently barren orchard that belonged to Rikard Lovas. In the fading lights, their silhouettes must still have been spotted, for bark and leaves were thrown abruptly into the air with every crack of the barrel.

 

“I don’t know.” _Huff._ “But they’ve detected it-” _Huff_. “-and they’re not happy.” _Huff._ “Since you’re with me,-” _huff_ “-they’ll be after you too.”

 

“Perfect.” She regretted this more and more every instant.

 

They jumped over the fences that marked the borders Lovas’ orchard, and made for the river that ran downwards. Its current was strong and the banks full, thanks to all the rain that occurred over the week. The boat tied to the make shift dock was bobbing erratically up and down,

 

“We should cross the river,” Rey said at the same time that the stranger said, “We take the boat.”

 

Both of them stared at each other.

 

Rey, rather irritated with how her day had gone, folded her arms. “I know Jakku,” she insisted. “We have a better chance escaping if we cross the other side. I can lead us to the city, and we can blend in with the crowds-”

 

“You don’t get it,” he cut in, grabbing her by the shoulders – which she really didn’t appreciate. But there was a desperation in his eyes, a fear seemed all encompassing. “They’re going to kill everyone and everything until there’s definite proof that we’re dead. Even then, they’ll probably still kill everyone anyway! On the boat, we have a chance of getting much, much farther away.”

 

His argument made sense.  She knew that the river itself was one of many, and when they all joined, they emptied out in some lake or sea far, far away. But she only knew this because she had heard it from the chatter of traders in Niima. She had never gone down the river like some had. She never remembered a day where she had not been in Jakku. It was not that she hadn’t thought about it – she just knew that she had to stay here.

 

But the threat that loomed behind was very real, and if this stranger, whom she privately admitted seemed very dead on her initially inspection, was telling the truth, staying on Jakku would lead to her dying on Jakku.

 

Somehow, for all her commitment to staying here, that was a fate that she had never envisioned for herself.

 

So Rey climbed abroad the small bow that was probably Lovas’, while the stranger did the same. She was not a thief at heart, but she couldn’t feel too mournful about undoing the mooring line. Lovas had been one of the merchants who had snubbed her, and she was pretty sure he had filched her crops before.

 

Once free, the boat bobbed along with the rushing waters, and the tide yanked them forward – away from their pursuers, and into the unknown.

 

Now that they could take a bit of breather, the young woman held out her hand to the stranger, finally introducing herself, “Rey.”

 

The stranger stared peculiarly at her hand for something, before meeting it with his own. “Finn.”

 

~~~0~~~

 

Jakku had been once a desert. A dead land, they said, until the Lord of Light had laid his hands on the ground.

 

The sand turned into soil, rich and thick. The blazing sun was tempered into a courteous glow. The dry winds turned into the dainty breezes. Rivers ran where bones were once buried, and then life just burst forth.

 

But when dawn came the next day, it was clear that a fist had come down on Jakku.

 

Where there had been rivers of life now ran rivers of blood. Where the sun had been kind and warm, now it seemed like a crimson splatter across the sky. The winds were dry, yet tempestuous, sweeping up the ashes of burning building.

 

When Kylo Ren arrived to Jakku on the _05:45 to Northwest_ , he could already see that the sky had been scraped, and the earth had been scarred. He could sense that there was nothing around him but the dead bodies, and the groaning souls still trapped within in them.

 

Captain Phasma met him in the town centre of Niima, where she had saluted him and informed him quite readily that the orders had been fulfilled.

 

“What orders would that be?” he inquired icily, twirling his scythe slowly.

 

Orders that came from Hux, apparently: to look for the one who had escaped, and if he was not found, wipe out every living thing from Jakku. A task that Phasma had succeeded in.

 

He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse. He would have, except that his trust in Phasma had been compromised and he wasn’t about to feed Hux any ammunition. With all the restraint he could muster, Kylo Ren demanded, “Let me see the bodies.”

 

He examined them all before they were loaded up the train – the old, the young, the grossly obese, the grotesquely skinny. But though they came many shapes and sizes, they were not her.

 

“The criminal,” he asked Phasma, “have you recovered him?”

 

“We’ve wiped Jakku clean, sir – some by bullets and other by sword. It is possible that his body is too mangled to be -”

 

“So you haven’t recovered him, then.”

 

The Captain had no rebuttal.

 

The search had gone stale after a good many hours, and Kylo bade the Captain and her troops to return to the underworld. There were many a souls to ferry to land of the dead, and they had to be tended to if they were to be of any use.

 

He had stayed above, citing a desire to search for any clues. But the minute the train pulled away from the now-silent city of Niima, he headed straight in the direction of a certain farm.

 

Unlike the other crumbling farm houses that he had passed earlier, this one had no bodies lying within. Some of the items had been overturned, no doubt by the troopers that had raided the place. But while bullet holes and gunpowder marks were seem over the house, there was no blood, no body.

 

A peculiar sense of relief descended upon him as he departed the house. But all the same, what he had seen further confirmed his suspicions about the girl he had encountered.

 

Then again, it might be just coincidence. Maybe Luke Skywalker had truly returned, and had passed Jakku without their knowledge. Maybe the girl had just simply fled to preserve her life, and any connection to the runaway was imaginary.

 

But he gazed out at the fields of her labour, healthy leaves had turned brown and strong stems now drooped.

 

Jakku had been once a desert. A dead land, they said, until the Lord of Light had laid his hands on the ground.

 

But when the Lord of Light withdrew his hand, the soil became dust. The water became stone;

The fruit became rot. The land became barren.

 

Jakku had been once a desert. Now that their light had fled, it will be soon be again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might notice some parts of this chapter were taken from my previous version of this story 'On the Road to Hell'. But rather than following the Force Awakens plot, I'm going to try kind of make this it's own thing, and maybe more Greek-myth inspired. 
> 
> I have no idea how telegraphs work, and I did a lot of research trying to figure it out. But I want a somewhat 1900s feel for this story (and by the time Rey and Kylo are married it's supposed to be more like 1920s. The Great depression era, like Hadestown). As I haven't lived through either of these era and this being a work of fiction that I can never actually publish for money, please forgive me. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a review, or a kudos, or both if you like this thingy. If you don't, well, hope that you'll find a better story than this. Either way, have a good day.


	10. Always Singing at the Back of Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Chapter 8: An Old Tale of Way Back Then  
> Flashback of Young Ben Solo again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I've updated, because I'm trying to tie off some loose ends of my own for my old fic (on another website). Anyways, enjoy.
> 
> NOTE: Reuploaded coz I noticed that it didn’t appear in the notification thingy, so I waited for a while before reuploading it. Had to do it a few times. Sorry abt that.

~~~0~~~

 

There was something wrong with Luke.

 

Now, if Ben brought this up with anyone else, they would think him crazy. Because the Great Jedi was nothing but the most polite, most down-to-earth person they’ve ever met. He listened to their complaints with patience. He gave advice with such gentility and sincerity that it could make grown men weep. He was every inch the benevolent god that people had painted him to be.

 

But not to Ben. At least, not anymore.

 

To Ben, he had become colder. Stiffer. There was always a bite of iron in his words when the Great Jedi spoke to him now. He was less keen to lecture now and more prone to rebuke. His mild-manner critiques had become heavy-handed criticism. Once he would take Ben out to the fields and show him how to whisper to the vines and the trees, but now he had banished him to the books, claiming that his basics had not been sufficiently mastered. This was ridiculous, because two years ago Luke had precisely told him that him the only way to learn basics was by practice, not theory.

 

But theory was all that Luke wanted him learn now. To read the ancient rulebooks and histories, as if he had not done so many times before.

 

They didn’t even argue anymore, because Luke’s stubbornness meant that he wasn’t listening enough to argue. Even over menial matters like what to have for dinner, Luke would rebut his suggestions, only to agree with it when someone else brought it up.

 

The young man wrote about it in the next letter to his mother, hoping that perhaps she could knock some sense back into her sibling. But weeks passed and there was no reply. Instead, his uncle had confronted him instead.

 

“So you complained about me to your mother,” the Great Jedi said, folding his arms.

 

Ben was aghast. “You read my letters?”

 

“I needed to know who you were writing to,” was Luke’s unrepentant reply.

 

“Who else would I be writing to?” The young god let out a snort. “Even if I was writing to someone else, it wouldn’t be your business to read my _private correspondences,_ would it?”

 

“You’re my student. _You_ are my business.”

 

“Really?” Ben spat out. “Because over this last year, I feel more like a prisoner than a student.”

 

At that, his uncle grimaced. His hardened expression seemed to soften. “Have I really been that bad?”

 

It was the boy’s turn to cross his arms, trying to bury the hurt that was so close to rising the surface. He did not meet Luke’s eyes.

 

The conversation had ended then, for it was time for dinner and Luke’s followers were waiting for them. For the meal, Ben didn’t join in the conversation, and left as soon as he was done.

 

As he marched up the hill, to the tent that he had pitched for himself that night, he heard his name being called. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw his master, the Great Jedi, clambering up the hill behind him. Reluctantly, he slowed and allowed his uncle to catch up.

 

Luke seemed to hesitate before speaking, “I admit, I’ve been quite harsh to you as of late. I’ve not been the master I should be.” Though his manner was awkward, it was clear that he was sincere.

 

Ben nodded, because he agreed.

 

“I’ll be visiting the poor around the village temple tomorrow. I’d like you to join me,” Luke continued on. “I believe there’s much you can learn there.”

 

It was not much of an apology, but it was as close enough for a Skywalker.

 

So the next day, Ben did join his uncle to visit the beggars by the temple. They went in disguise, otherwise his uncle would be swarmed everywhere he went. Dressed in their commoner’s garb – which was honestly not that different from the robes they usually wore – they wove through the crowds with ease.

 

Luke went forward to speak with the beggars individually. He would listen to their troubles, nod sympathetically, and he would offer each some food. The one lugging the basket of food around was, obviously, Ben.

 

Luke’s intention probably was for him to spend the time listening to the tales of the degenerate, hoping this would grow in him compassion. Yet, the more stories Ben heard, the more irritated he felt.

 

Yes, some of beggars were poor in health and broken in body, but most had other working limbs and moving mouths. Surely they could be doing something else than sitting by the streets and wasting their lives in this manner. At least half of those he had seen today were likely faking whatever ailments that they claimed to have, all to prey on the sympathetic. Such schemes, such ruses were the creations of the indolent, and it disgusted him that this was what they used their minds and muscles for. 

 

As they made their way to the next lot of vagrants, his tongue could not be held any longer.“Uncle, do you honestly think it’s right to be encouraging such behaviour?”

 

“Encouraging such…” Luke furrowed his brows at him. “You make it sound like they have a choice.”

 

“They do have a choice,” Ben hissed as he watched a hunched, older woman pressing coins in the palm of a squatting vagabond. Though the hunched woman herself seemed exhausted from a hard day’s work, and her garb revealed herself impoverished too, but here she was, putting her hard-work in the mouths of parasites. “There are others like them willing to earn their keep. Why should they be rewarded for their laziness?”

 

His uncle altered their path, opting to lead them instead to the fountain situated at the centre of temple courts, where the splashing water would drown out their conversation, no doubt. “Ben,” he began, his tone terse.

 

“I know you say that we should be compassionate, Uncle,” the young man cut in, folding the sleeves of his robe into himself. “That we should, as much as possible, think the best of people. But people aren’t good. They’re selfish, lazy and lawless.” He shook his head. “Have you ever considered that by thinking the very best of people, we only end up bring out their worst?”

 

“So what are you saying, Ben?” An edge had entered the older god’s voice. “Should I think the very worst of _you_ to bring out your best?”

 

The young man frowned. “That’s not what I meant. I’m-”

 

“-alway so quick to pass judgment on others,” Luke finished for him, scorn evident in speech and expression. “Never considering the factors, the circumstances. Do you honestly think that they choose their poverty?”

 

“Well, it’s not like you do anything to truly better their-”

 

“I help them live through another day, Ben,” the old, scruffy god refuted. “Another day of their ‘selfish, lazy’ lives, as you would say. Because life, no matter how difficult, no matter how harsh-” Luke’s brow deepened “-is never more bitter than death.”

 

Ben moved to protest, but his uncle was done with listening to him.

 

The Great Jedi took the basket from his grasp, eyeing him with a mix of anger and disappointment. “Since life has no value and my work is naught but folly in your eyes, you might as well go.” With that, he made a sharp turn, marching with the food to the remaining huddle of vagabonds.

 

The chastised portion of him creeping after his uncle, tail between his legs, like the repentant apprentice that he should have been. But his pride stewed his indignation. He stormed towards the temple exit.

 

How often had he spoken, and his uncle was so quick to correct him? How often had he acted, and his uncle quick to chide?

 

The more Ben mulled over it, the more sure he was of his uncle’s error. How was this compassion if it only bred the vices of the idle? How could there be charity, if there wasn’t also wisdom and judgement?

 

Lost in thought as he marched out of temple, he almost tripped as he crossed the ledge at the gate.

 

Fortunately, a firm grip on his arm steadied him. At first, Ben had thought it might be his uncle. Instead, he was met by the hooded woman with dark green skin, one of the musicians he had met so many nights ago.

 

“Watch your footing, Ben Solo,” she said, her voice soft and gentle as he remembered. Yet, the fingers that she dug into his arm felt like steel. She did eventually loosen her hold, allowing him to withdraw slightly in caution.

 

Glancing over her shoulder, then around them, the young man inquired, “Your sisters?”

 

“They have…their own errands,” was all the answer she provided. Gesturing out at the small town, the green-skinned woman asked him, “Perhaps you’d join me for a walk.”

 

Seeing that he had nothing else to do now, Ben accepted her proposal.

 

She led him with great surety through the town, passing market square and the merchants’ street without a moment of consideration. It was as if she had been here before, and he wondered almost if this was her hometown.

 

“What do you know about the Jedi?” he asked her, just as they stopped to allow a cart to pass in front of them.

 

She granted him a sidelong glance. “What do you _want_ to know about the Jedi?”

 

Ben hesitated. He had only met this woman once before – dare he disclose his inner thoughts? But he thought of his argument with his uncle about him intercepting his letters, and his true lack of confidantes. The conflict within him grew daily. Perhaps a listening ear – one divorced from his life – would be useful to attain a new perspective.

 

So he spilled all that was churning within him, and it was a relief to have a sympathetic listener who didn’t disparage him for thinking poorly of mortals, who didn’t think him crazy for criticising his ‘saint’ of an uncle. In fact, the hooded woman seemed to agree with the most of what he spoke about.

 

“My uncle told me that a Jedi was to be always selfless, always generous, always kind.” The words tasted sour in his tongue. How had they did that, and he had not noticed? “Yet, I don’t see how pursuing such a way of life could truly better this world. And even if it did, to what end? The ones who savour the fruits of our labour barely remember our deeds once the season ends, and their focus centres back on themselves.”

 

“You seem to have a great distaste for mortals,” the woman by his side remarked. She did not sound disapproving the way his uncle would, but instead amused.

 

Ben let out a deep exhale, feeling a little guilty. “I … know it’s not a very charitable trait. I know they can’t really help it, and that’s why they need-”

 

“The guidance of the gods? Yes, yes, they do.” They were going down a narrow, somewhat empty street now. The hustle of the crowds faded behind them, somehow adding to the gravity of her words. “Mortals so easily go astray. So weak they are. So frail are their lives.” She sounded pitiful. “They spend their time on this planet so frivolously, and leave so unceremoniously. Without a firm hand, without a higher purpose-” she shook her head “-they would run themselves into the ground.”

 

“My uncle doesn’t use a firm hand as often as he should.” Ben huffed a stray strand that fell over his face. “And he too often assumes that mortals bother with notions of ‘higher purpose’. My fath- I know some who don’t even believe in such things.”

 

“And that’s why this world remains plagued with the vices it has: the mortals pursue their dark desires, and the gods watched idly, twiddling their thumbs.” Her words seemed to echo down the entire path, bounding against the narrow walls and back towards them. Even with her hood obscuring part of her face, the young god could see how her green lips took a deep downwards turn. Her eyes narrowed into slits, and almost seemed to glow. “No vision. No unity. No peace.”

 

He slowed his pace, drawing them both to a stop. Far from the crowds, far from distractions, it became increasingly apparent that the green-skinned woman was not all that she appeared.

 

Warily, Ben inquired, “Are you are a Jedi?”

 

She let out a snort, a wry smile forming over her viridescent countenance. “I was. I was.”

 

“But that means you’re a god. And your sisters-” he though back to the bald, grey-skinned one, and also the other with orange skin “-they are too. But you’re all not Jedi anymore, as you said?”

 

“We could have been, perhaps.” She shrugged, smoothening out her long headdress. “But then we betrayed.”

 

“By the Emperor?” He recalled from his lessons from Luke that the old god from the Underworld had emerged under the guise of friendship, and his charisma had won over all. On this foundation of deception, he plotted his schemes and at the opportune moment, struck.

 

His strange companion did not answer him, instead continue down the narrow street. Except the winding path was no more, replaced by gigantic pillars and marble floors. Ben blinked in amazement as he surveyed this abrupt change in scenery. As much as he’d have like to gawk at the majestic architecture that surrounded him, he hastily hurried after the hooded woman, not wanting to be lost in unfamiliar territory.

 

The pillared walkways opened up into a giant hall, with an open roof that allowed the sun to stream in. Statues flanked left and right, with even more lining the upper storey of the hall. All of them wore the garb of the Jedi, bearing peaceful and contemplative expressions.

 

“There had been many Jedi back then,” his guide told him. “With all the gifts that the Force gave us, we could have driven every vice from this planet. We could have achieved paradise. We thought that was what we were doing.”

 

She jerked her chin to elaborate mosaic below them. It had the world at its the centre, with a circle of humans standing on it. A larger link of figures circled over them – the Jedi. “We sought to serve the mortals. But we stayed so long amongst them that we forgot our places _above them_. We took on their customs, their delights, their desires, and we lost sight of our purpose.”

 

The comforting yellow rays streaming above them shifted into a harsh red. The peaceful expression on the statues morphed into sneers. The cloaks, that were hung loosely on their shoulders before, now were wrapped up tight around them. Weapons appeared in the statues’ hands; long blades and staffs.

 

“We craved their approval more than their wellbeing, and so helped them further ruin themselves. We aided wars. We propagated injustice. We abandoned the innocent, to hear praise from those we favoured.” The tone of her tale turned bitter. “As a young god in this time of chaos, I watched as the ones I had once admired warped by hubris. I saw corruption poison our thoughts and actions, under the guise of relevancy. I could not stand by doing nothing.”

 

Ben peered at her, fearful yet too invested in the story. “What did you do?”

 

“I made a statement,” she answered rather matter-a-factly. “I showed them exactly where our actions were leading us. But they paid my warning no heed, and chose to expel me from their ranks.” She let out a long sigh. “And, the fate I predicted came to pass.”

 

A shadow fell over the hall, and the statues around them began to crumble, not even making a sound as when the dust hit the floor. The multitude that had surrounded them earlier had been entirely vanquished, and blown away by a faint breeze.

 

Involuntarily, Ben took a step back, a sharp chill running down his back. He swung around towards her, a question on his tongue. But she was nowhere to be found.

 

“Your uncle seeks to revive this order,” her voice boomed through the ruined halls. Indeed, it was ruined now, with cracks appears on the walls and edges of the pillars chipped away. The mosaic below him had been smashed and its initial image ruined.

 

He found her standing on the upper balcony of the hall, a lantern in hand. The weak orange light against her green features made for a grim image. “His intentions are good, perhaps, but you know what is said about good intentions.”

 

Her lantern abruptly went off, leaving him alone in the darkness. As he fumbled blindly about, he heard her, her voice still rang out. “I have seen the tapestry that is to be your life, and I know the end that occurs should you not leave your current path.”

 

A light appeared him behind, glowing green. Ben spun around, and found himself face to face with Luke Skywalker. Yet, this could not be his uncle, for his brows were furrowed together and eyes crazed. In his grasp was his staff morphing into a blade, something his uncle would never do. His body was tensed for attack and he was poised to strike.

 

The young man stumbled back, tripping over the rubbles and landing on his back. The twisted version of his uncle hovered over him, waving the weapon threateningly as he did.

 

Ben’s hands sought for anything that might be a weapon, but nothing came to his hand. He had nothing to defend himself with.

 

The blade, flashing in the darkness, came sweeping down on him. His arms covered his head, and he braced himself for the strike.

 

And then suddenly, light flooded in.

 

He raised his head, and found himself sitting along the long, narrow alley from before. The lady with green-skin was gone, and he was alone. Rising uneasily from the cobbled ground, feeling a little sheepish, he turned himself around, back to the market square. It would be best for him to head back to camp. Who knows how long he had been out here, hallucinating as he did?

 

Yet, the visions he had encountered felt too raw for him to be entirely unshaken. On the road back, he swiped the sickle that a careless farmer left lying around, just in case.

 

That night, Ben lay down in his bed with the sickle next to him. But even then, he could not rest. He ruminated over and over on all that he had heard, and he wondered – was Luke ignorant of all this history of the Jedi? Or did he know, and purposely ignored it?

 

Unable to fall asleep, Ben sat up, and made his way to the desk. Lighting a candle, his itching hands reached for a quill and paper. Just as he was about to begin, he hesitated. Would his letter even reach his mother? And if it did, would she even consider his concerns, if those concerns were formed on a mere vision and against her own twin?

 

So for the first time in many years, Ben addressed a message to another.

 

The next day, he would venture into town, to the post office. He would hand this message the clerk at the counter, along with the appropriate payment. The clerk at the counter would then file it according to the address, and another worker in the communications rooms would find that letter, unfold it and buzz it, letter by letter, through miles and miles of electrical wires.

 

Another worker in an office miles and miles away would receive this message, and have it printed out in a small card. This small card would then be sealed an envelope. It would then be delivered to the address of its intended recipient, who was unfortunately not home at the point of time. So that letter would added to a pile of unread messages, left untouched in the absence of their receiver, until it was too late.

 

~~~0~~~

 

On the road to hell, there was a warehouse, and that warehouse was the workplace to three women: sisters of purpose, though not of blood.

 

One sat by her spinning wheel, her feet clapping down its pedals and her hands feeding the wool into the slot. With every thread that she begun, a newborn in the mortal realm out let out its first cry.

 

Another sat at the other end of the work room, her feet working the pedals of her whetstone. Upon it, she ground the blades of her scissors till they were razor-sharp.  She would then walk over and survey the looms, where each giant machine wove the spun thread into tapestry. When she deemed a piece long enough, she would poise her scissors over the threads. With every seam she snipped, someone in the mortal realm let out their last breath.

 

In them between both was the weaver herself, the designer of the tapestries. She would survey loom by loom and adjust accordingly the length, the colours, the tension as deemed fit.

 

Today, the weaver arrived later than expected. The spinner and the trimmer both eyed her with much disapproval.

 

“Where’ve you been, Barriss?” the sister at the spinning wheel inquired, tone revealing her annoyance. “You know we had planned to convene at this hour.”

 

“Probably mucking up some destiny which we’d already decided on,” the one called Ventress remarked, as she hacked at a row of seams. Somewhere in the distance, expected cries of anguish echoed. She paid it no mind, nonchalantly wiped away the excess fibres stuck to her twin blades. “She always does that.”

 

“I apologise, my sisters,” the woman in question lowered her dark hood, as she slotted her card into the time clock, waiting for the tell-tale punching sound. “I had to tie off some loose ends.”

 

Setting her card next to those of her sisters, Barriss moved industriously through the millions of looms that rocked back and forth in automated chaos. Checking the large labelled attached to the side of each loom, she found the one that she was looking for. Pulling on the lever, the weaving halted.

 

She stepped forward and leaned in, undoing some of the threads that had been woven in before and knotted in some new threads. Stepping on the peddle of her loom, she wove the first few rows manually, adjusting the tension as she did. Taking a good look at the tapestry one more time, she pulled on the lever of the loom, allowing it to once more return its rhythmic labour.

 

“How much longer on that one?” Ventress called from across the warehouse.

 

Barriss peered down the tapestry that had been done so far. The top of the tapestry depicted wealth and fortune, happiness and healthiness. As one crept lower down the fabric, shadow motifs crept up around the bright flowers and fauna patterns. The light in the images were overtaken by increasing jarring tones of crimson and black, like fire and brimstone eating into the forestry. She smiled as she noticed the new motif forming, thread by thread. Brown lines interlocked with each other, over, and over, and over. Like a railroad line.

 

She then answered back, “Give it a week or two, maybe?”

 

~~~0~~~~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Hadestown the Musical, the Fates (aka the Moirai) can be argued to be as much antagonists as Hades himself is. Also, they are awesome ‘coz they get all the great show numbers. Though they are more shown with musical instruments in the show, traditional Greek myth would describe them as working with thread, like weavers, hence all the weaving in this depiction. There’s Clotho (the spinner of thread), Lachesis (measures the thread) and Atropos (cuts it off i.e. the Trimmer). 
> 
> So in this Star Wars version of Hadestown, the Clone Wars girls are take the place of this trio:  
> Ahsoka (the orange-skinned one with blue and white braids – CLEARLY) is Clotho i.e. the Spinner.  
> Barriss is Lachesis i.e. the Weaver.  
> Asajj Ventress is Atropos i.e. the Trimmer.
> 
> Though the musical portrays the Fates working as one inseparable unit, in this story…that may not always happens. 
> 
> It’s usually expected that the one playing the Trimmer role would be the most ‘evil’ of the fates. Just like the Clone Wars show, though Ventress is the only one trained in Sith arts, she’s not the most evil one, honestly… (also if you haven’t watched the Clone Wars, it’s pretty good. Like… 2/3 of the episodes are good, and 1/3 is on parr with the Star wars movies. Out of 100+ episodes, that a pretty good ratio). 
> 
> Leave a kudos or a comment if you’ve like this. I do like knowing that people like this. Whether you or not, have a nice day.


	11. suddenly he was only a man, with the taste of nectar upon his lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback chapter probably takes place sometime (possibly years) after chapter 9, but way before the present time of chapter 1. 
> 
> By this time Rey knows of her powers, joins this story’s version of the resistance, and met Luke before (and got rejected). She knows Ben better, but doesn’t know about Kylo Ren. 
> 
> Yes, so, after a long time, this is a definitive Reylo chapter.
> 
> Note: Reuploaded coz notification error.

~~~0~~~

 

For the longest time, she had been alone, though she hadn’t always known she was lonely. The routine in her life had occupied her mind and sealed her heart, barring her from the aching longing, the all-encompassing emptiness.

 

The cold had numbed her to the pain, and the work had hardened her thoughts. The deceit, the lies, the thievery that occured in the everyday of Jakku were nothing, compared to hopeless of counting the days where no two familiar figures darkened her door. Her starry-eyed, childish self, who had believed so much, lost hope long before her cynical adult self who dare admit. She had turned her collar to the wind, to the world, to the war.

 

With her gifts and her new place in this war revealed, she could no longer ignore the war, or the world, or the wind. The hardships of life and the plight of the mortals moved her greatly to action. But it too reminded her of her own forlornness and weakness. How longer ago was it when she had been one of them? How longer ago had she persisted in living in such meaningless suffering? Was there even a point to all this?

 

He had guided her when she had no mentor, in that moody, somewhat abrasive way that he did. He had taught her about the Force, about the gods, and about the growing power within herself. He had shown her how to understand her emotions and thoughts, and how to channel those through her gifts.

 

Wilted orchards blossomed once more. Graves of the dead became gardens of life. While the peoples gave her thanks, she truly believed herself undeserving. After all, would she be able to serve them, if it wasn’t for him?

 

He was humble, choosing to keep his place in the shadows. His bashfulness amused her, and his avoidance of the people made her tease him dreadfully. Surely, someone as large and imposing as him wasn’t afraid of mere human beings?

 

He always responded to her goading stiffly, followed by a complete change of subject, usually to a ridiculously banal one. This was no deterrence, for she found this quite hilarious and sought prod him as much as she could.

 

For all the torture she inflicted on him, her regard and respect for him was sincere. She admired his vast knowledge and his remarkable skill, but she was drawn to his sensitiveness and passion. She couldn’t but listen to him, as much as he listened to her, and the sharp contrast of his wisdom against her own naïveté was always as refreshing as it was challenging.

 

She would especially remember some evenings, for he only came after dusk, when they would converse on matters other than the universe or the Force. They would bare their to soul to each other, confessing at length their deepest fears or darkest thoughts.

 

And so she told him her feelings of inadequacy, her doubts about the Jedi, and the overwhelming loneliness that had come with her new-found responsibility, on top of the lack of closure with regards to her identity.

 

“You aren’t alone,” he said then. And she knew he meant it, though she didn’t know how.

 

And so she reached to take his hand.

 

For so long, she had only known how to hold her own, and yet at that moment, holding his hand had felt like the only desire that she ever had.

 

He did not pull away, instead pulled nearer still, and planted a kiss over her knuckles.

 

She knew that they didn’t let go for the rest of the night, though she had woken alone. She vaguely recalled him whispering something in her ear and planting a kiss in her hair, but him laying her down on the grass and restarting the fire must have been done at dawn. He never stayed beyond this time, but he would always leave some token with her - like a pledge, almost, of his swift return.

 

Today, he left with her a clear stone, almost like glass, yet tough than anything stone she had ever felt. When she lifted it towards the sun, it was as if a rainbow was contained with it, psychedelic colours flashing and glittering. It was like nothing she had ever known.

 

Being with him nothing like she had ever known.

 

She had never expected to feel so strongly this way. Sometimes, it felt as if he was someone she had always known him, though there was much of him yet that she had yet to discover. Though she had worked for years in the sun, by his side was akin to being surrounded by the heaven’s glow. The world felt better, and warmer, and her memories of the cold and numb slipped away.

 

Now, all she wanted was to hold him close – hold him close, and never let him go. After tasting the warmth, how could she returned to cold?

 

~~~0~~~

 

He had always seen the world as it was. It was selfish, broken and ugly. It was brimming with deception and despair, without a single honest or good thing about it. He had learned the hard way not to trust too quickly, and to not hate too lightly.

 

So when he fell in love, he fell in spite of himself.

 

With his inclinations towards the darkness, his attraction to her light was a foreign sensation indeed. He still hated the sun. Hated the flourishing greens and the creatures that infested them. Hated the mortals with their fickle loyalties and their hollow affections. But those were the things that she had taken onto herself now, and if teaching how to use her powers allowed him in her presence, he would help her. Even if that help was rendered upon the ungrateful, the deserving mortals.

 

It made her happy, he realised, to harness her gifts for the sake of a cause that she perceived to be worthy. While he disagreed with those causes inherently, he didn’t stop her. She saw the world as it could be, in spite of the way that it was. She would realise with time the folly of her actions, as he had so many years ago. But revelations were often a personal experience, and he would not push her towards such until she was ready. He would be better than Luke Skywalker, or any of the insipid mortals she called friends. He would let her decide, because eventually she would decide right.

 

With this resolution in mind, he thought that he’d be content as her companion and confidante, in the way that he had had no companion or confidante in his youth. He did not hide his regard for her, though he didn’t press it too overtly either. He gave her gifts; pretty things that he knew she could admire and play with, even if she didn’t wear them, but left her before the dawn, for the light still hurt his eyes and his master still had work for him to do.

 

He had been content with this, until one day, when he arrived to the surface a little earlier than he had expected. It had been at sunset, when she was still in a garden, kneeling down as she gathered flowers in her apron.

 

Even at this mundane task, the light haloed around her silhouette, forming a transcendental image. The wind was in her hair, flapping free her chestnut locks from the buns that usually restricted it. As she rose to greet him, the smell of grass and pollen washed over him. It should have made him nauseous, but now it was like the sweetest thing he had ever inhaled.

 

Flowers in her hand and a grin stretched across her cheeks, she leapt forwards and swung her arms over his neck. The surprise made him drop his cane so that he could catch her, and he held her as she giggled and kicked up her legs and teased him about his height. Holding her in his arms, it occurred to him there and then that he never wanted to let her go. For there, in his arms that very moment, he held his entire world.

 

The weight of this revelation must have seeped into his expression, for she had ceased her laughter and drew herself back. “What’s the matter?”

 

He had to set her down first, if he was going to avoid dropping her all together. He must have been quiet for far too long, for her hand reached to cup his face. “Ben?”

 

He took that hand, calloused and rough, so much smaller than his own. Looking into her questioning eyes, it came to him what he had to do.

 

The right-hand man to the Lord of the Underworld dropped down on his knees.

 

She gasped. “Ben?”

 

He dug through into his pockets, but there was nothing that he had that could suit his purposes. Gazing up at her, he found himself stuttering, “I…I don’t have a ring, but,-” his hands clasped hers, together with the flowers she had plucked, “-marry me.”

 

She stared down at him, clearly dumbstruck.

 

“I’ll provide for you,” he found tumbling past his lips in his nervousness. “We’ll always have food at the table. Clothes. Shelter. You’ll never want for anything.”

 

She didn’t say a word, expression not quite readeable.

 

“Of course, you don’t need me for that.” Embarrassment shot through him as the ridiculousness of his declarations sank in. “You…you already have everything that you could possibly want here.” Self-disgust swelled so quickly that he wished he could stab himself in the foot, if only to distract himself from the distress of the situation.

 

“I don’t deserve to ask anything of you.” He didn’t quite dare meet her gaze anymore, instead staring down into the dirt while he released her from his hold. “I can only beg that you have pity on my heart, and not despise me for the way I feel about you.”

 

 “Ben. Oh, Ben.” He could feel her kneeling down next to him, but he didn’t dare look at her still. He couldn’t bear to see the compassion and worry in her eyes, even if that was what he had requested for. He felt her fingers stroke the nape of his neck, guiding him gently to look at her. He searched for sympathy, for horror, but he only saw her smile before she leaned forward.

 

The taste of her lips against his own was like a breath of air. Her technique made her inexperience obvious, perhaps, but so did his. He had to duck down accommodate her, and in doing so, nearly knocked them both over. Much to his displeasure, this loss of balance broke the contact, leading to her bursting out in laughter and him turning as red as a beetroot.

 

She didn’t allow him to linger too long in shame, running a hand through his black locks. It was something he hadn’t thought he would enjoy, but he was starting to realise that Rey changed a lot of his opinions. “Yes.”

 

He blinked, puzzled.

 

She let out a snort, shaking her head as she clarified, “I’ll marry you.”

 

“Oh.” It took a while for him to process it. “You will?”

 

She took his hand and kissed his knuckles, the way he had once done for her. He could feel her smiling against them as she gave a confirmatory nod.

 

The constriction in his chest for the anticipated rejection faded away, replaced by blooming euphoria. He swoop forward, wrapping his arms around her waist to draw her close. As he kissed her again, he could almost here a song in playing in his ears, rising up to the sky above and echoing through the ground below.

 

The world around him, that he knew to be dark and cold, seemed to join in harmony and rhythm to the mysterious chorus that rang so through within him. It was for a moment that the world was in tune, and the lips that kissed her could only sing its song.

 

~~~0~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on the three songs from the Musical: the first is ‘All I’ve Ever Known’, specifically the Broadway version. When I had heard earlier versions of it from the 2017, I thought it was just okay. But the Broadway version added an instrument section before and during the song that really transformed the experience of listening to it, so now it inspired a lot of this story. 
> 
> The proposal in the garden is inspired from the 2017 Hadestown (by the NYTW cast)’s Chant II and Epic III. This version Epic III continues to be my favourite song from Hadestown, even though it’s no longer in the Broadway version. 
> 
> I will definitely be writing a continuation for this one – which would be the wedding. Again, like the other chapters, it may not be posted chronologically. 
> 
> Drop a kudos or comment if you liked it. Otherwise, have a good day.


	12. Make flowers bloom again, in spite of a man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of chapter 11
> 
>  
> 
> Note: Reposted on 27 Dec AGAIN for some formatting issues. Thank you Impossiblefangirl0632 for pointing that out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TROS spoilers here. Or in this entire story probably.

On the same evening of the proposal, they married.

 

There was no need for audience, for the sky itself and the birds of the air were witnesses enough. They didn’t need to chart the stars to find signs for the worthiness of their match. The Force itself had drawn them together, and it was by the Force they spoke their vows.

 

There was no wedding band to be had, but it wasn’t needed when the vows themselves were binding enough. They vowed to love, honour and obey; to cherish, in all seasons and in all weathers; to be one while they were two; to be always faithful and true.

 

And so, she became his wife.

 

Their wedding night was spent with the sky as their shelter and the meadow as the wedding bed. She could tell he had been mortified when she had first suggested it, but a few kisses along his neck had been sufficient to quell his complaints.

 

She had never felt so close, so adored, so loved as she did in his embrace. He was so gentle and attentive. His caresses were sweet and his kisses passionate. Against the glow of the moon above and under the shadows of the brambles above, he whispered his devotion into her hair while stroking the small of her back. Gazing upon the beautiful man that was her husband, lying next to her under the cloak that now served as their blanket, her heart felt so full that it could almost burst. That night was possibly the most peaceful she had ever slept.

 

But when dawn came, he needed to leave.

 

“I’ll find you tonight,” he promised, as he slipped on his clothes, still rumpled from how carelessly they’d been removed the night before.

 

She wasn’t happy, but of course, she understood. Their union had been a spur of a moment decision, and they both had prior obligations for the day. So she drew him in for a goodbye kiss, saying, “Come home to me.”

 

He deepened it, full of longing and desperation.  With much reluctance, they eventually parted for a breath, and then he departed.

 

Not wanting to linger in the garden alone, Rey dressed herself, summoned a ride – it turned out there was a herd of bulls passing by – and made her way to Felucia.

 

The villagers of the surrounding fields must have spotted her from a distance, for not soon long after Finn himself came riding up on a borrowed steed, looking very much relieved. “Rey, where were you? You didn’t come back last night.”

 

“I appreciate the concern, Finn,” Rey greeted him while sliding off the creature’s whose back she had borrowed. Sending the creature back in the direction of its herd, she turned to the man who had become her dearest friend. “But you know that I can look after myself.”

 

“Yes, yes.” He slipped off his ride so that he could walk with her. “But it’d have been nice to get a note or something. Can’t you like-” he made a wriggly gesture “-some bird to carry the message?”

 

“I suppose.” Her cheek reddened, as she tried imagining to send such a message the night before, considering that she had been, well, _occupied_.

 

Still, she knew that she owed Finn a notificaion, at least. Though she had been the one who technically raised him from dead, Finn had saved her countless times. Both of them were strangers in the war, struggling to find new purpose in the world they had entered, and so they helped each other. Supported one another. Saved one another.

 

“I’ll remember next time.”

 

“It’s no-big honestly, but I’d appreciate it.” And with that, Finn waved off the conflict.

 

The town of Felucia had been struggling with harvest, thanks to the dryness of the land. The Resistance, eager to gain more allies and resources, had sent their very own Jedi to help, with Finn and other resistance members tagging along for support. They had been working on the area for the last three months, with Finn talking to the locals and Rey talking to, well, the land.

 

It had been hard work, but worthwhile, especially with little green tuff seeming to sprout from the ground after a long famine. The irrigation channels that the Resistance engineering team had constructed had poured some life back, and long, long session of meditation finally coaxed the soil back to consciousness. Yet, for all their successes, there was no end in sight. They had been here far longer than they should have been, and there had been endless messages from other towns begging for the aid of the Jedi.

 

It seemed that today there would be a step backwards, for the saplings in the paddy field before her were already drooping.

 

The villager who owned this plot of land had been the one who brought them here. “I followed the instructions that you gave down to the letter, m’am,” he informed Rey with a respectful tip of his hat, “but over these two days, the saplings been all drying up like that. I don’t know what’s going on.”

 

“I’ll take a look,” Rey said, bending down to strip off her boots and rolled up her pants. Carefully, she stepped down into the paddy, sloshing her way up to the crooked crops.

 

She checked their leaves and their stems for any kind of infestation or disease that might be plaguing them, but most of them were far too dead for her to see anything. Gazing down in the muddy water, she sensed strongly that there was something amiss. “The water in here – is it from the river?”

 

The farmer confirmed it.

 

Rey and Finn then made their way up hill, towards the start of the river. The newly built dam sat at its mouth, wheels churning rapidly as liquid ran through it, pouring white curtains down into the water below.

 

“Is there something wrong with the dam?” Finn asked as she stooped down, peering at that water flowing into the structure in question. “The engineers made a point to clear up all the waste before they started running it, if that’s any consolation.”

 

She scooped some of the liquid up with her hand, and promptly spat it out. “It’s not the dam.”

 

Surveying the massive lake that made the mouth of the river, Rey went as close as she could to the lake shore without getting wet, and there she sat herself down.

 

Finn, who noted this, let out a sigh. “Let me know how it goes.” She heard him moving away, probably to find a comfortable place to wait.

 

So Rey meditated. She stretched her feelings out, trying to get a sense of her surroundings. She tried to feel the wind. She tried to feel the water.

 

The water…it felt wrong. It should be full of life, with fish and plants and tiny other creatures that dug into its sand or skidded its surface. Now, the water felt heavy, and quiet. The plants growing in it felt all twisted and tangled, as if they didn’t belong. The fishes seemed to be suffocating. The creatures have all hidden away.

 

The sensation was so distressing that her eyes had shot open, and she had to resist the urge throw up.

 

“Rey?” Finn was quick to her side. “Rey, are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine.” She did not refuse the water flask that he offered, however. After drinking, she explained, “Something must have poisoned the water. I’m going to try to clear it.”

 

“You can do that?” Her companion sounded doubtful.

 

She rolled her shoulders back, picking up her staff. “I certainly hope so.”

 

Removing her footwear once more, she entered the lake, going in deeper until the murky water was brushing against her knees. Closing her eyes to focus and letting out a deep breath, she allowed herself to connect to the Force.

 

She could feel its power moving around her, through her, like a quiet hum growing louder and louder with each passing moment. Raising up her staff, she lowered it into the water.

 

The darkness in the water seemed to ebb away, turning so clear that she could see her feet at the base of the pool. The murkiness seemed to retreat, swallowed back by whatever source that came from. When she lifted a spoonful of the liquid to her lips, it tasted clear and fresh, as it should.

 

“That was amazing!” Her companion gushed while helping her climb back to land. “Just when your staff hit the water, it was like all the gunk from disappeared.”

 

“It’s not just gunk, Finn,” Rey said while she dried off her feet. “It isn’t just dirt or forest debris that made the water sick like that. It’s some thing foreign – maybe like a chemical dye, or some kind of fertiliser, or just waste in general.”

 

“I’ll be sure to ask the locals about it and get them to stop,” Finn promised.

 

When they returned to the village to bring the news, it was met with much delight. Apparently, her ‘miraculous’ act already started to have a visible improvement on the crops that very afternoon. Drooping stalks had been straightened already and dead buds seemed to blossoming. The villagers wished to thank the ‘Great Jedi’ that they had in their presence by holding a grand feast to celebrate.

 

This feast, of course, would only be after nightfall.

 

“Thank you, but it’s really not necessary,” Rey insisted.

 

But the villagers would not let her refuse, for all the preparation had already started, and they were really grateful. They had lights strung up. They had fires lit. They had a delectable spread of the local fare, and it even had bread. After all their effort, she felt guilty of how little of it she was enjoying.

 

All of the Resistance crew were digging into the food and bonding with the locals. She saw Finn chatting with the engineers, one of whom he had grown quite close over the last few ‘missions’. She was glad to see how comfortable he had become those in the Resistance, and how he had finally adopted their cause of his own.

 

He belonged here, but she didn’t. Never quite did, even if she agreed to the cause. But the Force was not bound by causes, be it the whims of man or the will of gods, and she was of the Force.

 

She knew where she belonged now – to whom she belonged to, and he was waiting for her.

 

Quickly working through her food, Rey glanced around to see if anyone would notice if she laid her plate near the fire pit and disappeared from the feast. She succeeded with the former action, but before she could scurry away, one of the farmers spotted her.

 

“You’re just in time, my lady,” the kindly-looking woman said as she pressed a mug into her hand. “This is a specialty from ‘round here. There’s nothing quite like it.”

 

Trapped, Rey took a cautious sip, and immediately began to cough. In the past, she had little time for beverages from the distillery. She always needed to stay sharp, stay wary. But this was a celebration, and apparently this drink was one that the locals were quite proud of.

 

“You need to down in one shot, your ladyship,” an older harvester cackled while slapping his knee. “Let it fly right in, and before you know it, you’ll be hit with the kick.” Murmurs of accent echoed around, and she knew that all eyes were on her.

 

Letting out a shaky exhale, Rey tilted her head back and poured the suspicious liquid down her throat. It burned, oh, how it burned – yet there was something spicy and fragrant about the mixture that it made the experience oddly pleasant. Even though she ended up coughing some of the residue, she didn’t object when they refilled her tin mug.

 

“To the patroness of all this!” someone shouted out as he raised his own cup up. This was met much cheering and joy, and for some reason people clanked their mugs together as they repeated his sentiment. The time between them chugging their drinks to refilling them again was astoundingly short, and they urged her to do the same. Though a little nervous, she did down the potent beverage, and this was met with much hearty approval.

 

“To the lady who has returned life back to our lands,” another called out, also mug raised, “and with wine enough to share!”

 

“Hear, hear!” the villagers called back, and drinking containers were once more smashed against each other, and were shortly emptied once more.

 

They called out a dozen more things, each getting increasingly senseless and incoherent as more alcohol entered their system. To her surprise, Rey didn’t quite mind. It made her smile to see the sleepy, woozy cheer that had fallen over the villagers. Some began singing made-up songs of key, and others began guffawing over the silliest things. The air was nice and cool, and the fire bright and warm, and all was at peace and happiness.

 

It did warm her heart to know that she had, in part, helped to achieve this.

 

It had taken her a while to find a ride, because her spacial awareness wasn’t quite cooperating at the moment. Still, eventually, she did reach the stables, and after many attempts to hoist herself up onto a steed, she eventually found success.

 

The horse carried her out beyond the Felucian lands, back to the garden. From a distance, she could see a fire lit there, and a figure that crouched near it. That figure looked up as she drew nearer, and ran up to her just as she managed to slow her ride.

 

Her husband (that was a realization that made her feel very bubbly inside. Or maybe that was from over-eating) had clearly been distraught, and there was some remnant of that even in his sigh of relief.

 

“Rey, I’ve been so worried. A part of me wondered if you had-” he stopped short as he helped her off the horse, frowning as he appraised her.

 

Rey, even in her fuzzy state, was aware enough to frown back. “What?”

 

“You’re drunk.”

 

“What? Me?” She scoffed. “No, I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.”

 

“You’re drunk, and you’re late.” His tone had suddenly soured.

 

He turned abruptly on his heel, marching right back into the garden, to the fire that he had prepared.

 

Letting a exhale, Rey hurried after him as quickly as she could — without tipping over, that was. “Ben.” He didn’t respond, not even with a glance. “Ben, the villagers threw a feast for me. They were so hospitable and friendly, I couldn’t-”

 

And then she saw it.

 

What she had thought to be a fire wasn’t a fire, but little gas lamps arranged in a large circle, flames set safely under little glass chambers to keep them out of the wind. They surrounded a spread of little dishes that sat on an elegant-looking cloth, and each dish of silver held the prettiest morsels she had ever seen. There was spread of cheeses and cured meats, an entire roasted pheasant neatly carved up and of course, a loaf of bread.

 

“Yesterday…wasn’t really ideal,” she heard him say quietly. “I don’t regret it, but I hoped to have a proper celebration with you.”

 

Guilt pooled in her stomach — along with all the grease she had consumed earlier. “Ben-”

 

“But I see now that you’ve had other celebrations to attend to.” He stared down at his clenched fists. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

 

“Ben,” she stepped in front of him, trying to been his downward gaze, “Ben, I am sorry. I know you’ve put a lot of effort in it. We can still enjoy this together.” She peered at the spread of food, and in her mind, she was knew that she couldn’t touch a bite of it right now. The villagers had fed her too well.

 

“Don’t force yourself.” Her husband wasn’t fooled, if his stiff reply was anything to go by. “You must be tired. You should get some rest. I’ll clear it up.”

 

“Ben, please.”

 

He didn’t respond, instead proceeding to pick up the dishes in a rather mechanical fashion. He took to stacking them carelessly over each other, not caring that the food was spilling over the plates.

 

“Ben, you’re making a mess.”

 

He still didn’t answer her, haphazardly cramming the utensils, dishes and the remainder of the food into a basket, the one he must have used to carry here. Silverware clattered against ceramic, and she was sure she heard shattering somewhere in the

 

“Ben!” Unable to bear such wastage before her eyes, Rey dashed forward, yanking him by the sleeve. Fury swelled in her chest at his pettiness. “I said, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean for this to happen, and I didn’t know what you were planning. Would you stop acting like a child?”

 

He did stop, but only to consider her with such a cold expression that it sent a shiver down her spine. He let go of the last plate that he was holding onto, letting it smash into the grass below.

 

Letting out an irritated huff, Rey kneeled down to clear it up. Doing that however sent her head spinning in circles, so she had squeeze her eyes for a few seconds before she could orientate herself once more.

 

Upon opening her eyes, she realised that Ben had left the garden. From a distance, she could tell that he was taking very long, aggressive strides.

 

Well, if he was going to be stubborn and petulant, she was going to be too.

 

The remaining dishes, she tried to pack cleanly. Those that she couldn’t, she reluctantly tried to consume. It was uncomfortable, and she loathed that she couldn’t finish it all. The guilt of the wasted food, and perhaps the lingering guilt towards Ben, made it very difficult for Rey to get a good rest that night.

 

But rest she did, and when she awoke, body slanted against the protruding roots of a birch tree, she found a cloak draped over her, clearly tucked in neatly around her. As she reached up to rub her eyes, she felt something in the palm of her hand.

 

It was a simple golden band.

 

Despite her throbbing headache and her warring emotions, she did not hesitate in slipping it on.

 

She battled with what was called a ‘hangover’ for the rest of the day, and had to deflect many questions from Finn. But that night she returned to the garden again, much earlier this time, and he was there, waiting, with a matching ring on his fourth finger. 

 

~~~0~~~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some references to the song _Livin’ it Up on Top _from Hadestown.__
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> _The course of love never did run smooth._  
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> _It’s clear that Rey at this point doesn’t know actually that much about her husband, as much as she thinks she does. What exactly she believes about him (at this point) will explored in future chapters._  
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> _  
> _If anyone’s interested in my thoughts on TROS, feel free to check out my new story ‘Luminous beings are we’ (yep this is an ad). Otherwise, let’s keep this story spoiler-free alright._  
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> _Reviews and kudos are always lovely, but whether you leave some or not, hope you have a great day.  
> __


	13. When the Chips are Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to Chapter 10 i.e. Ben Flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from on Hadestown song _‘When the Chips are Down’ ___

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

It started with a whisper. A rumour. A word, from a far away land.

 

“I heard them say-”

 

“No. No way!”

 

“The word on the street-”

 

“You don’t believe it? Take a look for yourself.”

 

There was a man at the bar, just here for his morning fix – that was, a shot of whiskey over bitters, and maybe a pipe of freshly rolled tobacco. As he struck the match to light his morning pipe, the owner of the place came round to tell him, _“Some stuff came for you while you were away,”_ before dumping before him a stack of envelopes, all of different sizes.

 

The man groaned, because that action had put out the flame of his match, requiring him to strike another match. Also, he wasn’t very fond of clearing his mail.

 

Finally, the leaves caught light, and a few breaths later, he was puffing away while his eyes roved over the crowd. A few of the folk were a tad hangover, no doubt from drinking night before, and here they were taking more of the same thing as if it’d cure them. Most of the lot were just here to kickback their feet and gossip while sipping the sludge they called coffee. They would chat amongst themselves, and nudge each other as they nodded towards the morning paper.

 

“Well, ain’t that a sight?”

 

“Once so high, now so low.”

 

The man mulled over how he could clear the pile of unwanted letters as quickly as possible. As he carelessly skim through them, he found himself glancing at one that had come from the telegraph office. It was thin, as telegraphs often were. Figuring it would be a quick read anyway, he tore the seal and remove the thin slip in there.

 

As he unfolded it, the discussion in the bar seemed to swell.

 

“Look, it’s just hearsay. It’s impossible that-”

 

“But you see here – none of the Republic rulers are denying it. And there’s proof! See this-”

 

“I heard that the temples all around have been closed for the day, and maybe for-”

 

The man tipped the drink down his throat, and then he read the message. A cold chill shot through him as he read the words. He read it again, and again. He was confused, and disturbed.

 

“Well, I said it before, and I’ll say it again. We couldn’t trust the Jedi all those years ago, so why did we ever think-”

 

“You know, they’re right. This whole ‘Republic’ thing that they’ve been trying – it’s just a farce. It’s just gods tussling for power while we mortals-”

 

“All I can say is that we should have listened that Sindian lady from the start. Lady Leia-”

 

“What about Lady Leia?” the man interrupted as he tucked thin slip into his front pocket.

 

The group of gossipers fell quiet as all attentions fell on the interrupter. He noted each one of them carried their own papers, and on the headline on the front was all the same,

 

_“GODDESS OF WISDOM REVEALED TO BE OFFSPRING OF GOD OF DEATH.”_

 

He didn’t wait for permission to snatch up one of those copies, ignoring the protest that followed. His eyes ran over the print.

 

_“During the opening celebration of the new Temple of Peace in in Hosnia Prime, attendees were startled when Governor Casterfo of Riosa interrupted festivities to reveal the true heritage of the goddess being honored. Lady Leia Organa, known as the patron deity of warfare during the civil war, and more recently as the guardian of wisdom, the arts and democracy in the New Republic, has been confirmed to be the daughter of God of Death, the late Darth Vader. Undeniably proof comes in the form of letters from the goddess’ adoptive parents, the late King Organa, and a series of correspondences between the goddess and her brother, the Lord of Life._

_Turmoil has broken out over Hosnia Prime about the allegiances of Lady Leia and the Great Jedi. Temples in the region have been closed from services as a result. How this will affect the impact of the New Republic remains to be seen, but undoubtedly, this news will change the world of gods and men forever.”_

“Hey! Are you gonna give that back?”

 

The man barely even noticed that he was crushing the now-stolen newspaper to his chest as he pushed past the swinging bar doors.

 

Quickly, he sought out a figure covered in furs. “Chewie, we’ve gotta go!”

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

The temple was on fire.

 

It wasn’t a grand temple by any means, and its destruction wouldn’t exactly mean any great loss of architectural achievement. It was just the vehemence by which it had been attacked that really struck him. 

 

The rioters had come at nightfall, bearing torches and barrels of powder. The temple had been closed to visitors and worshippers alike, but that didn’t stop the throng. They had come, marching through the barriers, pumping their fists in the air and chanting in a harsh chorus, _“DOWN WITH THE JEDI! DOWN WITH THE JEDI!”_

 

They were gods. Fending off mortals was never going to be a problem. But Luke’s followers were not afforded the same privilege. 

 

“Ben, the water!”

 

He was jerked out of his rumination, gazing down at the basin in his hands. Water. Right.  

 

He filled the basin quickly, and carried back to his uncle. Luke was kneeling next to a wounded pilgrim, who was writhing about as healers tried to tend to his burns. They stretched from his forehead down to his waist. “It hurts,” was the poor fellow’s garbled whimper as he struggled against the hands that pinned him down. “It hurts so much-”

 

Luke hushed him, laying a gentle hand against his forehead. This seemed to calm the injured man a little, and he allowed them to lay wet towels against his smarting skin. The Great Jedi himself stepped back to give the healers more space to work, though it was clear that he wanted to do more.

 

“Can’t you heal him, Uncle?” the young man whispered as they watched the healers pouring the water over and over on the sloughy skin.

 

“If I do, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to do anything else for rest of them.” Luke cast a weary look at the other occupants of the make-shift hospital.

 

There were so many wounded. Some were injured as they fled the temple; stumbling down the steps, or being trampled by other escapers. Others had been crushed by falling rubble, right next to the loved ones they had come to worship with. There were some who had tried to defend the holy ground, and were maimed for their troubles.

 

From a distance, smoke from the temple continued to rise, billowing like an eerie cloud of doom.

 

Another follower had been brought in, carried on a stretcher hoisted by four others who themselves looked worse for wear. As Ben staggered after his uncle, he was horrified as he scanned the man from the head — and couldn’t find any legs.

 

“We found him under the rubble,” a breathless, exhausted temple guard informed them. He himself was marred harsh abrasions over his arms, and had clumsily-tied bandages around over his shoulder. “We had to cut him out, lest the rest of him be crushed as well. My Lord, can you save him?”

 

Ben watched his uncle transformed into the Lord of Light, the Great Jedi, when he commanded them, “Bring him to me.”

 

They set him down on as flat as ground as they could find, before clearing out so that Luke could go forward. The peculiar posturing of the man’s body made it clear that his injuries were many, and the harshness of his gasps made it clear that even breathing was a struggle.

 

“Leave us,” Luke said to the crowd gathering around. “There’re others that need your aid. Except you, Ben. I’ll need you.”

 

Letting the volunteers and the guards squeeze past him, Ben hastily dropped to his uncle’s side. Only now, when it was just them two, did the wise older god appeared hesitant and conflicted. In a low voice, he confessed, “His chances aren’t very good.”

 

“What can we do then?”

 

“Buy him sometime. If we do nothing, the physicians can’t help him either.”

 

“But you said that healing-”

 

“-will drain me, yes. That’s why I need your help, Ben.”

 

The young man flustered. “But, I don’t know what-”

 

“It’s not that different from healing the ground.”

 

“But-”

 

“Just follow my lead, Ben. We’re not aiming for a full cure.” Even with all the assurances he was dishing out, Luke’s own exhale was still a little shaky. “Just need to fix some bones. Patch important organs. That’s all.”

 

Ben had never really healed any lands before – at least, on his own. Luke made him practice on a leaf, then a flower, and another, and another, and there was one time they saved a cabbage patch from being wiped out from the cold, but he had never actually healed anything before.

 

And Luke hadn’t exactly helped when he insisted Ben hit the books and stop practicing.

 

But these excuses weren’t going to save any lives today, so Ben copied his uncle’s meditative pose, and closed his eyes.

 

In the Force, he could feel his uncle, and he could feel his uncle’s life-force connecting with that of the injured follower, so Ben tried to do the same. The injured man’s life-force felt weak, and weakening, like his body was a broken glass that had life leaking through its every crack. He felt his uncle’s soft song to the wrecked body, urging it to heal.

 

Ben didn’t know this song, even though he had heard it before. He tried instead to pour a bit of his own life into the injured man – that would help right? – but when he reached out to connect with him, he found himself reaching a little too deep.

 

His mind was flooded with memories. Memories of anger and fear. Memories that weren’t his own.

 

Ben saw through the eyes of the man as the rioters had stormed sacred ground, their mouths spewing blasphemies and chanting curses. He felt the desperation as he watched them overturn the torches of the temple and let the flames consume the floorboards. He felt the rage as he saw unclean hands toppled priceless idols and looting precious stones on the altar. He seethed when he witnessed them spitting on holy images, tearing them down and cheering as they did. How joyous were they, when they struck fear in the hearts of the faithful. How boastful were they, when they struck down the innocents that had been there, paying back their piety with cruelty.

 

And he realised then that the wrath he felt was no longer the man’s, but his own.

 

_‘Ben! Ben! BEN, STOP!’_

 

His eyes shot open, but it was too late.

 

The man that lay before no longer struggled, for he no longer breathed. Instead, over his bloodied wounds had spread a dark rot, eating deep into the flesh till bone was exposed. His mouth hung open, stuck in a paralysed cry that must have been his last.

 

And Luke was staring at him, eyes wide with fear.

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

“I swear, Uncle, it just happened! I didn’t mean for it to. I-I don’t know what it was.”

 

Luke Skywalker should be berating him. Luke Skywalker should be giving him a stern talking down. Luke Skywalker should be shaking him by the shoulder

 

Luke Skywalker however was just pensive.

 

They had to cover the body, to tell his rescuers that his wounds were too severe and nothing could be. They had been disappointed, but better disappointed that than disgusted.

 

Ben was shaken. The frozen cry of the dead, rotting corpse burned bright his mind as even as they had hastily buried the body. There were quite a number of bodies to bury, and Luke made certain they received their last rites.

 

The remaining followers had already set up camp for the night, but a heaviness had fallen upon their party. Everyone was exhausted physically and mentally, and most of them had retreated to the solitude of their tents. Only the two of them still stood on the hill, gazing down at the valley where too many had been laid to rest before their time.

 

“Uncle, the rumours… are they true?”

 

Luke Skywalker sighed, rubbing his temple.

 

“Uncle?”

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik—_

 

She paused the machine, taking a good look at what had been produced thus far. She checked the space between threads. She adjusted the tension of the strands. She tightened the knots.

 

She then replaced the spool in the weft with a fresh one, sliding it back between the warped threads. She pulled on the lever, and away the loom went, weaving the threads in and out once more.

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

_Mother, it’s me. It’s Ben._

_Mother, I know it’s been hard, and I know it’s been busy. But I need to know._

_Mother, is it true what they say?_

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

Ben found it when he went rummaging through Luke’s suitcase.

 

He’s never touched Luke’s suitcase before. He understood privacy, and he knew that it was the place where Luke stored his most important belongings.

 

But he also wanted answers.

 

And he found a coin. A silver coin. Upon it was a different insignia, but it was extremely similar to the one that he had around his neck.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Out of nowhere, his uncle had appeared. There were dark circles under his eyes. The days have been trying, for the Jedi had been refused by many towns, and those that allowed them in all had done so out of fear. Followers had deserted, and there was nothing that could be done about it. Rivers were drying up, crops were dying, but the people still did not trust the Great Jedi.

 

Ben showed him the coin that he had found in the suitcase, but in doing so, he also revealed the coin that hung from his neck.

 

“Where did you get _this_?” rang out at the same time as “Where did you get _that_?”

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

Luke took both of the coins for ‘safe-keeping’. But at least he answered some questions.

 

Yes, the coin was a ticket to the Underworld, and it had been offered to him years ago — by Darth Vader. His father.

 

_“Join me, and together we can rule the universe as father and son!”_

 

No, Luke didn’t join him.

 

But some time later, Luke had used the coin, and he had gone to the Underworld, and he had faced the Emperor, and Darth Vader had redeemed himself by helping him destroy the tyrant that had caused such discord across the planet. Darth Vader, Lord of Death, perished then, and Anakin Skywalker passed into the Force.

 

That’s what Luke said. But Luke has lied before.

 

Ben lay on his bed, unable to sleep. He remembered that the green-skinned goddess from the market had warned him to keep the coin close to him, and now he felt uneasy without its weight around his neck.

 

He shifted himself, and closed his eyes.

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

_“I’d sleep lightly, if I were you.”_

~~~0~~~

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

He intercepted a letter that Luke had sent to his mother.

 

Why not? Luke had done that to his letters before.

 

Luke claimed that he hadn’t received any word from her either, but Ben suspected that he wasn’t telling the whole truth. After all, Luke had done that before.

 

He steamed open the flap of the envelope, so that it could be sealed back again later, and removed the letter within.

 

He unfolded it, and read.

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

~~~0~~~

 

_There’s so much darkness in him. So much hate._

_Leia, there might be too much Vader in him. I don’t know what to do._

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

_“I’d sleep lightly, if I were you.”_

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

He wanted his coin back.

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

_I don’t understand it. I don’t…_

_I don’t know what’s going on anymore._

_I’m…I’m terrified._

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

~~~0~~~

 

_“I’d sleep lightly, if I were you.”_

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik! Klik-klaaaak! Klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

Dad,

 

I’m not okay. If there’s any part of you that still cares, please come.

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak-klik-klik-klik-klaaaak-klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak-klik-klik-klik-klaaaak-klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Come to me, my grandson._

_Come, and fulfil your destiny._

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klik-klaaaak-klik-klik-klik-klaaaak-klik-klik!_

_Klik-klaaaak-klik-klik-klik-klaaaak-klik-klik!_

 

~~~0~~~

 

He was lying on his bed, struggling to fall asleep as he often did these nights. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he chanted in his mind, _‘sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep’._

 

Then Ben heard his door creaking open.

 

~~~0~~~

 

_Klikklaaaakklikklikklikklaaaakklikklik! Klikklaaaakklikklikklikklaaaakklikklik!_

_Klikklaaaakklikklikklikklaaaakklikklik! Klikklaaaakklikklikklikklaaaakklikklik!_

_Klikklaaaakklikklikklikklaaaakklikklik! Klikklaaaakklikklikklikklaaaakklikklik!_

_Klikklaaaakklikklikklikklaaaakklikklik! Klikklaaaakklikklikklikklaaaakklikklik!_

_Klik._

_Klak._

_Klik._

 

_Klik._

_~~~0~~~_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a second-part to this chapter.
> 
> The whole ‘Darth Vader reveal’ bit is based on Claudia Gray’s _Bloodlines _book.__
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _I watched a lot of ‘loom weaving’ videos to write this chapter._  
> _
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Some Greek mythology explanations here:_  
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>  
> 
> _  
> _If Luke’s supposed to be kinda like Demeter/ Apollo in this universe, then Leia is kinda like Athena i.e. goddess of warfare, wisdom and the arts. Athena being a representation of democracy is a more modern idea during the renaissance (or something), so I thought - hey, why not let Leia be that kind of goddess._  
> _
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _To make it clear, the Ancient Greeks had Hades, the God of the DEAD, and Thanatos, the God of DEATH. So Thanatos is kinda like the Grim Reaper, and a smaller god compared to Hades, who did the judging of the afterlife and all that._  
> _
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Thus, in this story, Darth Vader was the God of Death while Darth Sidious was the God of the Dead (i.e. evil Emperor)._  
> _
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _In chapter 2, 3, 9, Kylo Ren is serving as Snoke’s reaper, so in a way Kylo Ren was the God of Death while Snoke was the God of the Dead._  
> _
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Later on in chapter 1, 4, 5, 6, Kylo Ren shifts more to God of the Dead roles._  
> _
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Whelp. That’s a lot of info._  
> _
> 
> Oh, yeah, Happy New Year, I guess. Leave a review or kudos if you’ve liked this chapter. Whether you do or not, thanks for reading!


	14. My heart, it aches to stay, but the flesh will have its way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from _‘Gone, I’m Gone’ _from Hadestown__

“Ben!”

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

“Ben!”

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

“Dammit it, Ben! Where are you?”

 

~~~0~~~

 

Suddenly, nothing was as it had been.

 

His vision had been come to pass. His world had been overturned.

 

He was lost. He was scared. He was hungry and tired.

 

Where were they now — his heroes?

 

Where was the great Luke Skywalker?

 

Where was the awe-inspiring Leia Organa?

 

Where was Han Solo?

 

~~~0~~~

 

“Dad?”

.

.

.

.

.

“Dad?”

.

.

.

.

.

“Dad, I’m so tired. I’m so tired of it all.”

 

~~~0~~~

 

**I feel you.**

 

Your anguish.

 

Your fear.

 

Your hunger.

 

**I know you.**

 

Your longing for purpose.

 

Your yearning for significance.

 

Your desire for destiny.

 

 

~~~0~~~

 

It was like he were a bird shot from the sky. Song torn from its throat. Wings clipped and limbs bound.

 

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

 

All he wanted was a nice, soft place to land. Somewhere he could lie down forever…

 

~~~0~~~

 

It’s so cold up there.

Why not fly south for the winter?

 

 

~~~0~~~

 

She roused him from the spot he had collapsed in. The glow of her lamp casting ominous shadows over her green-skin.

 

“It’s time,” she told him. “You know what you have to do.”

 

He glanced down to the coins that he had in his palm. One was still stained with blood, and the other covered in ash.

 

~~~0~~~

 

 

**I see you.**

 

The raw, untamed power — stifled.

 

The makings of greatness – suppressed.

 

The fulfilment of a legacy — suffocated.

 

**I can free you.**

 

Like a diamond, you’ll shine.

 

Down in the mine.

 

Down in the Underground.

 

 

~~~0~~~

 

“But, but, my family…my parents…”

 

“What about them?”

 

“I can’t just-”

 

“Why not? They did, for you.”

 

“…I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.”

 

“Well, the choice is yours, whatever you choose. But tell me, young Solo, what do you have to lose?”

 

~~~0~~~

 

“What happened here?”

.

.

.

.

.

“Where’s my son?”

.

.

.

.

.

“Where’s my son, Luke?”

 

~~~0~~~

 

The vipers and vultures surround you.

They’ll come after you.

 _He’ll_ come after you.

Do you think they won’t pick you clean?

 

**If he took his own father down, why would he spare you?**

 

~~~0~~~

 

“I’ve failed you, Han.”

.

.

.

.

.

“I’ve failed my sister.”

.

.

.

.

.

“Your son is gone.”

 

~~~0~~~

 

He held out the two coins to the sky, as if one over each eye.

 

His heart wasn’t really into it. Part of it still belonged to the world up here. To the kinder thoughts, the fonder memories, though they were few.

 

But he was hungry. For a better world. For a better purpose. For some kind of _belonging._

 

In the distance rumbled a rhythm with a stomping tempo and a steady beat —

 

_DA-dum. DA-dum. DA-dum. DA-dum._

 

Pistons hissed. Whistles blew. Wheels screeched to a halt.

 

His destiny had arrived.

 

“Ticket?”

 

~~~0~~~

 

“Ben!”

 

He could hear Chewie riding up next to him, insisting that this was madness. This was folly. No horse of flesh could beat a horse of iron, but still he persisted. The Millennium was of a breed like no other, so he still stood a chance.  

 

“Ben!”

 

If he stretched out his arm, he might be able to grab onto that guardrail of the last carriage. It was risky move, and he wasn’t as agile as he used to be, but he just might be able to swing himself on board.

 

He unhooked his feet from the stirrups, urging the Millennium to keep galloping at the pace he had set. He slowly straightened his legs, arm reaching out to the elusive railing. _C’mon, c’mon, c’mon._

He felt his fingers brush against the metal, and his heart leapt!

 

He felt Chewie’s giant fur-covered arms grabbing him by the middle, and hauling him back.

 

“No!”

 

The rail was now out of his reach, and train was accelerating.

 

“Let go, Chewie! Let go!”

 

Chewie growled. _No._

 

“I can’t let them take him!”

 

Chewie’s grip tightened. _I can’t let them take you too._

 

He didn’t care. He writhed against the strong arms, but Chewie wouldn’t relent. Wouldn’t let him follow his only child down the road to Hell. The road from which no one ever came back from.

 

His hands stretched out to locomotive fading in distance. _“Son!”_

 

~~~0~~~

 

“Everyone’s always a little rattled their first time on a train, but you’ll get used to it in no time.”

 

The cloak placed upon his shoulders was heavier and richer than anything he had ever owned. It felt soft and smooth and luxurious, and he could see the threads of gold woven into it.

 

A mug had been placed in his hands, and even that was more ornate than the most exquisite chalice he had ever held. It had been presented to him by a finely-uniformed man who never met his eyes, and he realised that all the attendants on the train always kept their gazes low in his presence. Outside the door to his cabin were two guards always standing at attention, and they had saluted to him when he came on board.

 

He felt protected.

 

He felt significant.

 

He felt … _wanted_.

 

“Rest now, my son.” He felt the bony fingers caress the back of his head, while he sipped the hot tea from his mug. “Rest, and soon we’ll be home.”

 

~~~0~~~

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another piece of more experimental sort of writing. Hope it was an interesting experience and not too confusing. 
> 
> This chapter is based very, very heavily on the songs _‘Hey, Little Songbird’ _(this is my favourite song of 2019, according to Spotify) & _‘Gone, I’m Gone _, which revolves around Eurydice being tempted by Hades, and her subsequent decision. The point is that even though Ben, like Eurydice, was driven by circumstance to make the choice, it‘s still a conscious choice to leave the one they love behind.____
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _  
> _  
> _I haven’t seen Hadestown myself yet (and may never will, if it closes before I ever go New York), but from what I understand from the musical, the ‘ticket’ Hades gives Eurydice is the form of two coins, which she holds over her head as if over her eyes, according to the Tony Awards performance (and thus I wrote about Ben doing the same thing). It’s supposed to be a nod to how the Ancient Greeks would put two coin on the eyes of the dead, to pay Charon to ferry the dead soul across the Styx. Technically though, some Ancient Greeks would put a coin in the mouth of the dead instead so... I guess like one coin would have honestly been sufficient, but sure._  
> _  
> _  
> _
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>  
> 
> _  
> _  
> _  
> _I think I explained this coin thing in an earlier chapter, but... eh, who actually reads these anyways._  
> _  
> _  
> _
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>  
> 
> _  
> _  
> _  
> _If you don’t remember, the green-skinned woman who talks to Ben here is Barriss Offee, player of the tambourine and weaver of fates. She’s also the one working the loom in Chapter 13, which she was already doing in Chapter 10._  
> _  
> _  
> _
> 
> Oh, yeah, the whole thing about Ben thinking that Luke might have lied to him about Darth Vader’s redemption, and that Luke may have actually just killed Darth Vader — it’s just a random thing I thought about while writing this. Not tied to anything from the movies or books. But in this story, I think it would make sense for Ben to think this, and for Snoke to lie to him about it. 
> 
> _  
> _  
> _  
> _When I first started this story (and it’s earlier version), I was mainly inspired by the Hades/Persephone elements of Hadestown and was planning on ignoring the Orpheus/Eurydice stuff. But... guess who figured out how to bring in the Orpheus and Eurydice elements into the story and Star Wars-di-fy it?_  
> _  
> _  
> _
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>  
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> _  
> _  
> _  
> _Me. It’s me. And Ben’s backstory is only just the part of it._  
> _  
> _  
> _
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>  
> 
> _  
> _  
> _  
> _Well, okay. Leave a comment or drop a kudos if you liked this chapter, I guess, or if you like my lengthy and jumbled explanations for my very short chapter. Have a great day._  
> _  
> _  
> _


	15. The wind won’t change on us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a few months after the wedding (Chapter 12). 
> 
> Have some fluff with underlying doom, y’all.

“We should go out.”

 

“Hmm?” was his drowsy response, face was still buried in her hair.

 

“You know, spend time together.”

 

They had an actual bed now. And a real bed, with a mattress and frame and sheets. And they had a house that they called home, built in the garden that had become her retreat — and now his. A few weeks into their marriage, he had insisted that they have proper shelter. He loved his wife, but he didn’t enjoy sleeping on grass. Not to mention the contact with dirt, and _bugs_.

 

“We are spending time together,” he murmured, propping his head now, allowing him look into her eyes while they conversed. Not that he needed many excuses to do that — he could probably stare into her eyes for all eternity, and still think that stars were lesser beauties.

 

She bit her lip – the soft, pliant lips that he had kissed so many times that night, yet still longed to devour once more. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy what we’ve been doing right now —what we have together.” Her calloused fingers ran along his chest as she pondered, probably not realising what that act stirred within him. “But I just thought it’d be nice, if we could, well, enjoy each other while doing other things.”

 

He grabbed her by the wrist, because seriously, that was a little too distracting. Quirking a brow at her — “Other things?”

 

“Things besides domesticity. Like we did before.”

 

He snorted, massaging her hand in his own while admiring the ring resting there. “Hunting relics isn’t exactly what I would call ‘having quality time’.”

 

“I liked it. It’s exciting.”

 

“That’s because you’re weird.”

 

“Well, excuse me, Mr. ‘ _oh-force-humans-please-don’t-touch-me_.”

 

“I’m not people-person, but don’t pretend that you are either.”

 

“I am so,” she protested.

 

He gave her a plaintive look.

 

“Okay, maybe I’d prefer it if more people could appreciate ‘comfortable silence’.”

 

They lay side by side, her hand resting on his waist and his stroking her arm. Just the two of them together, gazing at each other.

 

Then he broke the lull. “Was that comfortable enough a silence for you?”

 

She smacked at his chest, sparking an unrepentant cackle, leading to further blows that he deftly dodged. Catching the fist that aimed for his shoulder, he rolled them over, such that her back was flat against the bedding and his form hovered over hers.

 

Peering down at her, her soft curves hidden in the strong muscle, he could think of a dozen things he wanted to do, each sounding better than the last. But when her other hand reach up to cup his cheek, all he could do was lean into it.

 

“Ben.”

 

And that’s all it took for him surrender to her; from the gravest of commands to the slightest of whims.

 

Her lips rose to touch his own. A soft brush. A gentle caress. Yet lit a spark within him, stoking it as she surged forward to wrap him her embrace, rubbing between his shoulder blades as he pressed deeper into her.

 

“Rey,” he gasped against her lips, her neck, her chest.

 

He loved her.

 

If he could marry her again, he would. In fact, he hoped that they might one day. A bigger ceremony, with all the flourish and grandeur that she deserved.

 

He loved her.

 

He wished that they didn’t need to stay in such a humble placement. A cottage was no fitting residence for gods, and certainly not for the queen of nature itself. His queen deserved a palace of her own, and a throne for good measure. She deserved a thousand maidens waiting on her hand and foot, and a chorus of a thousand more dedicated to composing poetry of her million virtues.

 

He loved her.

 

He wanted to take her away from all this. Whisk her away from the mortals who treated her less than she was, who bored her with their inane conversation and used her for their selfish agendas.

 

He wanted to protect her. Adore her. Worship her. It tore him apart to tear himself from her before each dawn. To gaze upon her slumbering form, uncertain of when he might get it to see it again; to hold it against his own, to love it as he wished.

 

He loved her, but he still had to go.

 

~~~0~~~

 

“You seem off.”

 

He swung his scythe back, letting it rest on his shoulder. “And to surprise of no one, your opinion doesn’t matter to me.”

 

“I just thought you might want to know,” Hux said, before sliding a cigarette between his teeth. _‘Flick’_ was the sound as the lighter cap popped open, and he lifted the flame to the tip. “If I’ve noticed, others are bound to.”

 

Before them lay three hundred casualties – maybe more. Kylo Ren hadn’t exactly been counting. It wasn’t his job anyway. The troopers were helping to gather up the souls and load them onto the train. The scribes on the field were already tallying up the numbers, and they passed the updated report to the director.

 

Hux puffed on his stick as he leafed through the papers. He then gestured for the attendants to bring some stationary. Standing nearby, Kylo couldn’t help craning his neck in curiosity —

 

—only for the director to wave the cigarette dismissively at him. “You know that you don’t have the authorisation to read this.”

 

The snub struck him well and true, and Kylo Ren responded with the appropriate fury, “I’m the Reaper of Death—”

 

“Yes, I’m well aware,” the redhead cut in sardonically, as he continued to scan the pages, deliberately angling them away from Kylo. “You literally carry a sickle with you-”

 

“A _scythe._ ”

 

“-like one of these farming folk.” The attendants had returned, carrying a tray of writing materials. Hux retrieved the quill from it, dipping it into the ink pot before tapping it on the blotting paper.  “You might be a _god_ , as they say. You might be an immortal, might be descended from immortals. But it doesn’t change the fact that you don’t make any real decisions.” The director flipped to the last sheet, to the dotted line at the bottom. Upon it his signature went. “Death occurred before you were here, and it still will when you’re gone.”

 

Hux didn’t even flinch at the sight of the brandished scythe, sparking and spitting with rage. He merely replaced the quill and picked up the spoon of wax that an attendant had prepared for him. The melted wax pooled in a circle next to the name he had written – the name that he had earned.

 

“And what about you?”  Kylo Ren seethed, grip on his weapon. “You’re just a cog in the machine.”

 

“A very important cog that if removed, would actually cause operations to halt,” Hux answered while exhaling a breath of smoke.

 

Despite everything in him screaming otherwise, Kylo Ren steeled himself and forced himself to lower the scythe. His master had his reasons for keeping this … dog around, and he would not be pleased if his plans were thwarted in a burst of temper.

 

But how he longed to pummel that pasty-faced mortal into the earth, especially with how smugly he removed a ring from his finger.

 

“Do you like it, Ren?” Hux held the ornament to his face. It had the seal of the Chromium Throne etched on it. “His majesty presented to me as a reward for my contributions.” He let out a satisfied chuckle before pressing it into the hardening wax.

 

Peeling it off, he smirked down at his handiwork. “It’s nice to be trusted with the decisions that make the Underworld go round.” Hux slipped the gold band back on his hand, admiring how it glimmered against his clenched fist. “It’s nice to have a ring that actually means something, don’t you think?”

 

~~~0~~~

 

“You alright?”

 

“ _Mmmhmm_.”

 

“You’re still hugging me.”

 

“I don’t see how that’s a problem.”

 

“It’s been about, well, five minutes maybe. I don’t know, but that feels inappropriately long.”

 

“We’re married,” he huffed. “I can be inappropriate as I want.”

 

“Don’t try to avoid the question. Is everything alright?”

 

When Hux had seen his ring, Kylo still didn’t know. He only put it on when he was with Rey. Otherwise, he always hid it under his clothes, on a chain around his neck. He knew she did the same, for he had convinced her that for now, it’d be best to keep the marriage of a Jedi secret.

 

Yet, he recalled that in moments of weakness, when he thought himself alone, he’d pull the ring out to admire, and sometimes he’d raise it to his lips as he mused over his beloved. Had Hux spied him in the act, and guessed its significance? But there was no definite proof, and his master was unlikely to consider such a matters worthy of his attention.

 

That’s what Kylo told himself over, and over. But if he really believed that, why did he feel so uneasy?

 

“Is it work-related?” He felt her fingers combing through his locks. Rey was rather fond of doing that. “You can tell me about it, you know.”

 

She thought he was a surveyor of lands, which was why he had to travel so much to so many different places, and studying the Force was a mere side interest. She thought that he worked for some kind of giant farming conglomerate, and didn’t want her ‘interfering’ in his work space just because of business ethics. She thought that the scarred old creature he talked about was just his boss, and the redheaded director he despised was just a work rival.

 

She wasn’t wrong exactly, if the harvesting of souls was considered a form of husbandry.

 

“It’s nothing,” he exhaled, but he was still holding her by the waist.

 

Gently, she pried him off, resting her hand on his shoulder while studying his mien. “We don’t usually talk about your work, because I know you’ve invested a lot in it, but-” she gave a small shrug “-you don’t need to work if you don’t want to.”

 

He stared her.

 

“In case you haven’t realised, I am a goddess of life.”

 

“You don’t earn any money,” Kylo pointed out.

 

“Well, no, but I can provide us with everything we could possibly need. _Literally_.”

 

“It’s not about needs.” With his forefinger, he tipped her chin up towards him. “It’s about what you deserve.”

 

That earned an amused look from her. “What I deserve?”

 

“Nothing but the best,” he told her, completely serious.

 

She laughed. “Of course.”

 

She indulged him, because she didn’t honestly think of herself deserving. She didn’t believed herself worthy of being cherished or worshipped. She still saw herself as a simple farm girl, just trying to make her way around life and helping others to do the same.

 

“Let’s go out.”

 

“What?”

 

“Let’s go out. Do something different together, like you wanted.”

 

“Oh.” His change of heart seemed to surprise, but in a welcome fashion. “Okay.”

 

Let her see what a little coin could do.

 

~~~0~~~

 

They had to get disguises.

 

Well, technically, being a famed Jedi and all that, _she_ had to get a disguise. Very few of those who had seen him in his true likeness ever lived to tell the tale, but he didn’t want to risk it if they ran into anyone from the Underground. Besides, Rey rightly pointed out that the fine-make of his clothes would garner far more attention than flowers blossoming at her feet.

 

The seamstress whom they visited was more than happy give them the garments intended for other patrons, in exchange for a handful of coin – already, demonstrating the usefulness of money. But honestly everything in the little shop was far below the quality that he was used to. Of course, he had to admit he couldn’t be too upset with the way Rey was twirling around in her new clothes.

 

A headscarf was wrapped around her head, only letting a tuff of her brown hair peek out near her forehead. Her dress matched, made of the same fabric. It seemed to droop around her body like a damp rag, until she swished, making it open up into a swirl of technicolor.

 

He himself was garbed in a simple work shirt and vest, with his even plainer trousers now held by a tasteless pair of suspenders. The tie that the seamstress provided was adequate, and the coat that he gotten out of necessity was serviceable, but nothing was really to his fancy. Still, his wife wasn’t all that particular. In fact, there was a rather appreciative gleam in her eye as she appraised him.

 

“See something you like?” he teased as he slid up to her, taking her hand and planting a kiss on the back of it.

 

“Maybe,” Rey answered, grinning. “Oh, wait.” She picked off a hat from the stand. It was made of something stiff – probably wool? – with a central dent on its crown.

 

That immediately puts a damper on his cheerful mood, not that there was much cheer to begin with. “No.”

 

 “But all the other gentlemen are wearing it.” She jerked her head towards the window.

 

Well, from their view, only two men were wearing it. But the headgear that all the other men donned were far worse, so Kylo reluctantly conceded.

 

After paying for the clothes, which he still felt were quite subpar and not worth the coin spent, he let Rey drag them down the road. Immediately, the evening breeze swept against them, but she just laughed when it tugged on her shawl, letting it fly behind her. He just tightened his coat around him and tried not to let the roughness of fabric bother him.

 

“Look at us,” she gushed, hooking her arms under his own. “We make quite the couple, don’t we?”

 

He realised that she was talking about their reflection in the shop windows. She looked young, gorgeous and spirited…and he looked like he was on the way to get a loan.

 

“Yes,” was his wry answer. “Yes, we do.”

 

“We’re adorned in the height of fashion!” She announced a little too loudly, earning some looks from passerbys. Still, nobody around could possibly conceive that the goddess of nature would be dressed in such a manner, and the attention on them quickly waned. “True creatures of the modern age!”

 

“If you say so, sweetheart.”

 

They walked quite a bit down the town, under the glow of street lamps. Rey kept stopping them to stare at the pretty offerings that various shops had on display, though she refused his offers to purchase them. Still, he mentally noted everything that she showed the slightest interest too.

 

She did let him buy her a necklace of glass beads after much coaxing, which while cheap in material, did go rather well with her dress. He also got her brooch for her headdress that came with a feather. It gave her great amusement to watch the likely artificial headpiece bobbing when she moved her head.

 

“Oh, they’re playing music!” She pointed to a bar, streaming with light and buzzing with noise just barely drown by the cacophony of instruments. “Let’s go see!”

 

“Wait, Rey,” was his useless protest as she pulled the two of them in.

 

The bar was crowded. The tables were crammed with more people than chairs and the floor was crammed with more feet than ground. People, dressed in garb similar to their own, were moving their bodies according to the swinging craze that the musicians went with. It was noise, chatter and havoc, and Rey was just soaking it up.

 

“Let’s get a table!” She had to yell at him.

 

“There are no more tables!” he hollered back, hoping that might be encourage her to leave.

 

“We can ask to share!” She pointed at a table that had no less than six individuals crowded around it, bearing drinks in one hand and cigarettes in the other.

 

Well, erm… “I’ll get us a table! Wait here!”

 

He went up to the bar, cash in hand. Some haggling later, the waitstaff saw a tipsy crew out of the place and he returned to present Rey with their prize.

 

Only to find that she was in the middle of the dance floor, kicking hers up knees and bobbing her shoulders in the most bizarre fashion he’d ever seen — and everyone around just clapped and cheered.

 

The music continued swelling and spinning, trombonist clearly having gone off his rocker during his solo. Those watching soon joined her on the floor, imitating her very strange style of flailing her limbs and spinning crazily around the way she did. Rey just grinned as she led more and more of them to follow her rhythmic gyrations, sparking hoots of merriment and laughter.

 

She arched a brow at him, clearly an invitation. He shook his head, which led to a flash of disappointment in response. But that faded quickly when the music took anotber exciting turn, leading to more enthusiastic twirling and kicking of heels from her and the company.

 

It was absolutely insane and absolutely uncivilized, and yet somehow when he saw how rosy her cheeks were, he grinned so hard that his cheeks hurt.

 

Thankfully, the burst of energy didn’t last forever. Soon the dancers on the floor retreated to their tables, allowing the newcomers to set a more mellow tone for everyone, thus the noise pollution took a nose dive. Rey didn’t seem the slightest bit exhausted from her little exercise though, practically skipping her way up to the table he had purchased.

 

“You looked like you had a lot of fun,” he remarked just as their orders arrived. A drink for her, and a small pot of chicken pie — also for her.

 

“I did.” She beamed up at him, before emptying her drink in one shot. Dropping her cup don with flourish, she let out a giggle. “Do you think I might have a calling to be a goddess of the arts instead? Maybe the goddess of dance? Should I be a muse?”

 

“Oh, Force – please, no.” He visibly shuddered.

 

That made her guffaw hard. She reached for the chicken pie and began to divide it half.

 

“Oh, you can have all it. I’m not hungry.”

 

She blinked up at him. “But we haven’t had dinner yet.”

 

“Oh, I had a late lunch at work today,” he lied. “You go ahead. Besides, I’m not the one who worked an appetite.”

 

“Well, that’s because you’re no fun.” She stuck a tongue out him, before proceeding to shovel some of the pie in her mouth. The moan of enjoyment she released made it very much worth it.

 

“I take that you like it.”

 

“I’ve never had this!”

 

“It’s chicken pie.”

 

“It’s amazing!”

 

“Yes.” Kylo tried not to sound too pleased with himself when he added, “It’s not something you can just grow from the ground, after all.”

 

She paused her gorging, chewing on her meal while narrowing her eyes at him. After swallowing, Rey said, “I can tell that you want to make a point.”

 

“Well, I’m just saying, if I didn’t have money-” he shrugged “-you wouldn’t be eating this delicious pie right now.”

 

“Aha, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Using her spoon, she dug into her pie and began to scrutinise it. “Flour, potato, chicken, green peas, carrots – those are all stuff I can get for _free_.” She paused. “By the will of the Force, I mean.”  

 

“But would you know how to put it all together? Rey, you’re the goddess of life, not the kitchen.”

 

“Well, I’ll get someone to make it for me.”

 

“And how would you pay them?”

 

“With more harvest.” She gave him an quizzical look. “Ben, you do realise that for most of my life, I’ve pretty much relied on barter trade, and it’s usually enough for me to survive.”

 

“No, it wasn’t. You just chose not to remember that.” He thought back of the hovel that she had once called home. The crude haystack that she had called her bed and the crummy fire where she had to cook all her food. “You just choose to forget the times when it was cold and you were starving, and the harvest you made should have been enough, but it wasn’t because those around you kept taking and taking and-”

 

 _Thwack!_ went her hands as they slammed against the table. “Shut up!”

 

That got a few heads to turn, but Rey didn’t care. Her teeth were clenched. Her fists were balled up together. Her nostril flared as she breathed heavily down at him.

 

And then she let out a long sigh and flopped back in her seat. The music in the bar hadn’t stopped playing, and most people didn’t honestly care so they returned to what they had been doing.

 

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t want to remember,” Rey muttered sullenly, picking at the chicken pie. “Maybe I just want to focus on now and be happy. Is that so terrible?”

 

Kylo himself let out a sigh, his own conscience pricking him even while his brain prodded his ego. Rubbing his temple, he found himself jumping to his feet to do something that he might sorely regret. Then again, no regret could be as great as making Rey upset.

 

He went up to her and held out his hand. “Would you do me the honour of giving me this dance?”

 

She peered up at him, incredulous. “I thought you didn’t dance.”

 

“I don’t. But what they’re doing doesn’t seem that terrible.” He jerked his head towards the couples that were rocking themselves slowly to the dreamy melody.

 

She didn’t smile, but she did take his hand.

 

He led her out onto the floor, guiding her hands on his shoulders while he rested his own on her waist. They didn’t really move, just swaying side to side at a leisure pace.

 

“I’m sorry.” The words so foreign to his tongue, but at the same time, they felt like the only ones that were right at the moment. “I shouldn’t have brought up your past like that.”

 

She didn’t say anything, but she did rest her head against his chest, letting him pull her closer.

 

“Despite everything that’s happened to you before, you’re still kindest, most forgiving person I’ve ever known,” he said. “You see the world as it could be, but sometimes I’m just afraid you’ll forget how it really is.” He crossed his arms over her back, almost protectively, before dropping a kiss on her head. “I’m afraid that people will use you and hurt you, and I won’t be able to stop it.”

 

“You don’t need to be afraid,” she murmured into his collarbone, arms looped over his neck. “I can take care of myself.”  

 

A soundless chuckle escaped him. “I know. I know.” Then he hesitated, “But what if one day, something happens, and everything goes wrong?”

 

He thought of of the burning temples. The humiliation. The degradation. He remembered the hopelessness in Luke Skywalker’s expression, just hours before his burst of madness.

 

“Then we’ll get through it together.”

 

“Together?”

 

“We’re married, aren’t we?”

 

He glanced down at the hand that rested along her spine, the hand where the gold band rested. “Yes.”

 

Rey gazed up at him. Her own hand bearing her matching band framed his chin. “ _Whatever weather comes our way, whatever seasons we go throug_ h-”

 

“- _just walk with me, my love, anywhere the wind blows_ ,” he finished, just as he had the night when they made their vows. And as he had asked then, he asked now, “Do you let me walk with you?”

 

“I do. Do you?”

 

“I do.”

 

Like she had asked then, she asked now, “And keep on walking, come what will?”

 

“I will. Will you?”

 

She raised herself to the tiptoes, kissing him lightly, unlike the weighty words that passed her mouth. “I will.”

 

~~~0~~~

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Chapter 15
> 
> ~~~0~~~
> 
> The fluffy portions of the story drew inspiration from the song ‘All I’ve Ever Known’ and ‘Promises’. The Hux portion of the story drew inspiration from ‘Way Down Hadestown Reprise’. 
> 
> So coz the setting for this story is supposed to roughly take place during the early 20the century, with Ben’s childhood kinda being in 1900s, and it’s kinda 1920s ‘Great Depression Era’ when Kylo is King of the Underworld. So at this time of the story, they’re kinda in the happy jazz era that happens before the depression hits full on? 
> 
> Okay, so I just wanted at excuse for them to wear jazz era clothes and go dancing.
> 
> Rey dancing solo is based on the ‘Livin’ it Up on Top’ dance break from the musical, where the Trombonist Brian Drye does indeed go crazy (in a good way) and actually join in the dancers on stage. When I first listened to Hadestown and heard the jazz bits, I thought the dancing would be like normal jazz dancing. And I saw some of their performance and ...no matter how I like the musical, I will still continue to think that the choreography is very weird. It’s not bad, and it’s mesmerizing, but I continue to think it’s weird. Hence, my feelings are basically Kylo’s feelings as he watched Rey’s weird dance break. 
> 
> Honestly, unless I write some filler fluff piece, this might be the happiest we see these two. 
> 
> It’ll be a while before I can post another chapter, so I hope y’all enjoyed this.   
> Thanks for reading. Comments are appreciated as always. Have a good day!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a kudos or review if you enjoyed it. Whether you do or not, thank you for checking this out.


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